


Lindir's Tale

by Wynja2007



Series: Kovalia [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Broadening your mind with travel, Dangers of drinking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Language Barrier, friends in unexpected places, kidnap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:23:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 40
Words: 93,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1989687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few badly-judged words come back to haunt Lindir, who finds himself uprooted from his comfortable life in Rivendell to go on a trip to the Fiefdom of the South Winds with others of Elrond's household.</p><p>But then he wakes to find himself separated from his companions, a prisoner of Men whose language he cannot understand but who seem to have no reverence whatsoever for Elves...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Few Light Words

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, an homage to the Lord of the Rings. I acknowledge I have no rights of ownership to the characters or the settings and that I only own my original content and interpretations. Intended for entertainment only, I will earn no monies for this work.
> 
> Please read the tags. While the implied rape/non-con is not graphic, still, it is an unavoidable part of this story.
> 
> This work will be updated regularly, but perhaps not on a daily basis.
> 
> 'Lindir's Tale' is essentially intended as a side-by-side for 'The Gift', so it doesn't matter if you haven't read it already or, indeed, if you never read it. This story covers the same events, but from a broader perspective and with the focus very much on Lindir.

‘Is this… a punishment, my lord?’

Lindir tried to keep the horror and shame from his voice. Horror at the thought of leaving Imladris, his beloved haven, and shame at the words spoken well over a year ago now, a few light words, spoken in jest, but still coming back to haunt him.

_‘…to sheep, other sheep no doubt appear different. Or to shepherds… But mortals have not been our study…’_

‘A punishment? Not at all, my dear friend. It is merely time you went out into the world a little more. See how it has changed, and is still changing.’

And just when Lindir began to hope that Elrond had forgotten or perhaps had never even heard Lindir’s thoughtless, laughing words, he held Lindir’s gaze for just a fraction too long, amusement in the wise grey eyes.

‘It is time for you to become one of the shepherds, mellon-nin.’

‘My lord, I have long since regretted those words and, indeed, they were meant only in jest and if anything, a jest against myself for my own lack…’

‘Peace, Lindir.’

Elrond came out from behind his desk and laid a hand on the minstrel’s shoulder. ‘Come. Sit with me. Let me explain.’

He led the way onto the balcony and took a seat at one end of the bench, gesturing Lindir to join him. The view looked out across the valley, the tall sides of the mountains and the distant cascades making an ever-changing backdrop.

‘We have all of us been guilty of withdrawing behind our own borders in the last age,’ he began. ‘Indeed, the only one of us who can truly be forgiven this is King Thranduil, who has had only strength of spirit and might of arms to protect his people. But the world has changed, and is changing still. Many are leaving these shores, and those who remain must either integrate or diminish.’

Elrond sighed. ‘My dear friend, I will soon sail. And I wish to make what alliances I can before then, for those who remain.’

Lindir said nothing. He had thought of sailing himself, more than once, and was only waiting, really, for a company to depart, or a friend to invite him. But it was a vain hope; Lindir had few friends. Music was the companion of his heart, the harp his only love.

‘There is a country – not even that, a handful of fiefdoms, to the south. It is of strategic importance, since the townsfolk keep clear the mountain passes and the road through the desert. They are not wealthy; had they been so, undoubtedly they would have fallen to Harad, if not to Mordor. But they are seeking alliance, not with the Southrons, but with Gondor.’

He rose to his feet and went to lean on the balustrade looking down into the valley. Imladris was beginning to show signs of age for the first time in Elrond’s memory, and it grieved him to see his former jewel begin to tarnish.

‘They are ruled – governed – be a woman, which is unusual enough amongst humankind for it to be of note, and she has a brother who would oust her and then ally with the Southrons. We know this because she sent us a letter, written in an obscure dialect that took my scholars far too long to decipher… the basic content of the letter was to state, to the leaders of the free world, that she wanted to come under the sovereignty of Gondor for her people’s sake, and that in the event of her death, this be implemented and the High King to choose a new governor for her land. Similar missives went to Gondor and to Rohan.’

‘Why would she do such a thing? Does she fear for her life?’

‘Probably less now that she has written to those she sees as trustworthy repositories for her plans. But it interests me. It interests the king, too, but he feels that any intervention on his part without invitation would look like an attempt to seize power before the matter has been properly discussed. He has asked me to send a small party down to investigate; to see what sort of woman this governor is, what sort of man her brother might be. You will not travel alone, Lindir. With you will ride Elladan and Elrohir – they wish to spend some time with their sister and it is not too far from the southern fiefdoms to Gondor. Erestor and Glorfindel will go, too . You ride in two days.’

‘If that is your will, my lord.’ Lindor rose to his feet and bowed his head. ‘I had better begin my preparations.’

‘It is my will. But, Lindir, it is not a punishment.’ Elrond clasped Lindir on the shoulder once more. ‘It is an exciting opportunity to mingle with the races of Men and learn more of this wonderful world of Middle Earth before we leave it. And, Lindir… truth to tell, I was a rather taken aback that Bilbo would make such verses in my hall, about my forebears… you did, at least, put him in his place a little.’

And was that not what Elrond was doing to him, also, putting him in his place for his thoughtless words? Well, he would have plenty of time to dwell on them during the journey.

*

Even in good weather, it was hardly a pleasure trip. After a month’s hard riding and a too-brief stopover in Lothlorien (Lindir would have lingered if he could, learning new songs and sharing his own) they passed through the north of Ithilien before reaching Osgiliath where they took another more-needed, but less-pleasant day or two away from the road.

Lodged in a reasonable inn for the break in their journey, Lindir sat around a table in the common room with his travelling companions and enjoyed the sensation of being seated on a proper chair at a real table.

‘Does one ever get used to this?’ he wondered, surprised when Glorfindel answered him.

‘To the travelling, Lindir, or to the indifferent service and the dubious beer? On balance, no, not really. But it makes for a change, and we see so little change in Imladris.’

‘Forgive me; I had not realised I spoke my thought aloud,’ Lindir replied. ‘I was meaning the travelling itself. Perhaps Lord Elrond was right; perhaps I had been too long in one place.’

‘Truth to tell, we had wondered if you would take root there,’ Elladan said with a grin that was echoed back by his twin. ‘You never seemed to get invited to any of the really interesting battles!’

‘Possibly because I’m about as good with a sword as you are with a zither, Elladan,’ Lindir replied, smiling. ‘For which I am most grateful.’  
‘What do you think?’ Elrohir joined in the conversation. ‘Have you learned to tell the sheep apart yet?’

Lindir gave a rueful laugh. He had admitted, early on in the journey, how his words had dogged him, and had found more amused tolerance from his travelling companions than anything else. And it had been a relief; he had felt the weight of long-carried guilt dissipating each time he spoke of it.

‘Well, I am starting to tell the sheep from the wolves.’ He glanced across to where one of the beermaids was being kept in conversation with a man who stood with his eyes constantly hovering back to the level of her cleavage. The man who seemed to own the inn came round from behind his counter, and summoned the girl about her work and she cast him an amused look of gratitude. ‘And the shepherds from the sheep, at times.’

‘Many are the races of men,’ Erestor said, his precise voice enunciating clearly. ‘And many are the differences between one from another. They are distinctive, should you choose to look. But, really, speak a moment to any one and they will say, ah, you are an elf, sir, are you not? And the man will not think there are any differences between Noldor or Sindar or Silvan…’

‘Yes. But still, I feel, I should have tried harder to see.’

‘Keeping so close to Rivendell as you have, it is not to be unexpected that if you are a little… blinkered,’ Glorfindel said. ‘I have seen perhaps more than any of you, and yet I am bewildered often by what I have missed… you, at least, Lindir, do not have chunks of history missing from your past. Your deficiency – I will not call it ignorance, mellon-nin – is more easily rectified than my own.’

‘We have met good folk, and we have met with rogues. And I am very grateful I am not travelling alone; without your sword, Glorfindel, your bows, Elladan and Elrohir, I fear I would not have lasted long.’

‘Of course, you would have had Erestor, still. His glance is enough to make the most hardened villains quail,’ Glorfindel said, causing the twins to laugh and Erestor to shoot just such a look at Glorfindel himself. ‘Ah, but I am not a villain; I am immune!’

‘No, but you work well together,’ Lindir said. ‘If there is fighting, then Glorfindel, you are excellent with the sword, but when things hang in the balance, Erestor can soothe an angry heart and turn away wrath.’

‘And what of us?’ Elladan asked.

‘Yes, what are we, Lindir? Extra baggage?’

Lindir laughed. ‘No, my friends. Your easy humour turns much uncertainty into laughter; it is I who am the deadweight around here.’

And while all the others protested, it was Erestor who made the most sense.

‘Not at all, dear friend. We are too used to war and the deceits of men. You, who are so new to them, can make more objective opinions, uninfluenced by your past experiences. Do not undervalue that.’ He smiled slightly, for him an excess of humour. ‘And then, we do enjoy your tales to pass away the nights beside the campfire.’

‘No campfire tonight,’ Glorfindel reminded them. ‘So I’ll to my chamber now. An early start tomorrow.’


	2. The Fiefdom of the Desert Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the travellers arrive at the fiefdom and begin to learn of the local customs...

It took them several days to work their way down through South Ithilien to the place where the lush green edges gave way to brown and dusty lands. Every succeeding stop south, the prices for water were higher and the rivers and streams drier and less frequent. But their horses were strong and they were well-supplied, and soon came to a little town nestled into the foothills of the desert mountain range they were seeking. As far as mountains went, they were unimpressive compared to Hithilgar; low mounds rather than sharp peaks, and as towns went, Foothills was equally disappointing.

Erestor proved his real worth here; he was the only one who could understand even half of the unpronounceable dialect that passed for speech here, and his unending patience with townsfolk curious about their party, their intentions, their origins paid dividends when suddenly they found themselves served with the best food, upgraded to the nicest rooms, and generally feted through the village.

‘What’s this all about?’ Elrohir asked, bemused, as a voluble and incomprehensible woman with grey hair and lined cheeks came to curtsey at them and prattle on at great length while Erestor nodded with serious eyes and gentle words.

‘She wants to know if we are come to tell the king to save them,’ Erestor said. ‘Or something of that nature. She has heard he has an elvish wife, and as we are elves, then we must be related…’

‘Well, some of us are!’ Elladan protested.

‘And what are we telling her?’ Glorfindel asked, curious.

‘Simply that we are travellers and need to cross the mountains tomorrow. She thinks it will be possible, although the burning storms threaten and she fears for our health.’

‘Kind of her!’ Glorfindel remarked.

‘Indeed, I believe it is. There is a sickness in this land, and the people think it is brought on the desert winds. I do not think there is any risk to us, but I have thanked her for the warning in any case. She says if we were old, like her, we would not be in danger; it mostly takes the young… or… it sits in the young, I think she…’ Erestor broke off, his face changing to an expression of utter astonishment, although he rapidly schooled his features back into listening politely.

Encouraged by this, the elderly woman inserted herself on the bench between Glorfindel and Elladan and kept talking, staring at Lindir while she did so. Pausing briefly to hear Erestor’s reply, she reached across and stroked Lindir’s face, making him to flinch and draw back, causing the twins to laugh even as she said something that might have been an apology.

Erestor’s face grew serious as he listened and spoke again, his shoulders stiffening and his brow furrowing at her reply.

‘What’s going on?’ Glorfindel asked as the woman’s tone became appeasing, placatory.

‘Fetch a clean glass and pour some wine for our guest,’ Erestor said. ‘Lindir – don’t be offended, I beg – she says that you’d be a very lovely wife for someone… no!’ he protested, glaring at the twins who had dissolved into laughter at this. ‘It is not a matter for amusement. Lindir, mellon-nin, I explained you were male and she said she knows this in spite of your fair face… this was when she touched you – but added that the men on the far side of the pass often take males to wife, for a night or for a season. We must bear this in mind in our dealings with them. I think… I suspect that my knowledge of the language is incomplete, but she says Lindir, that you are most fair and that both the women and the men will look at you with money in their hands…’

‘I see,’ Lindir said, trying not to sound as mortified as he felt. ‘I suppose you had better thank her for the warning… and the compliment… I… Is there more wine? I think I need some…’

‘Don’t worry!’ Glorfindel said. ‘I’ll make sure no scheming wild man seduces you – even if I have to pretend you and Elladan are a couple!’  
More laughter at this, but only from Elrohir and Glorfindel. Indeed, Erestor looked decidedly displeased.

‘We should all take care when we get over the pass,’ he said. ‘The ways of these people are strange to us, even if they seem as other races of men.’

It took them longer than expected to get over the top of the mountains. They reached High Village – ‘Such inventive names they have here!’ Glorfindel had muttered – just too late in the day to press on with any hope of reaching Low Village before midnight, and the Westron-speaking innkeeper - the first Westron speaker they’d met in days – was very keen to press on them the fact that a storm was brewing.

‘Keep here and safe, good lords,’ he said. ‘Beds plenty and food clean. Better to take lodgings.’

‘For him, no doubt,’ Glorfindel muttered in Sindarin. ‘And for the locals… new beings to admire with pointy ears and everything, oh look!’  
‘We are visitors and guests here, Glorfindel,’ Erestor said in stern tones. ‘We should remember that perhaps all of our kind will be judged on our behaviour. So we will gladly accept the lodgings offered and, as the innkeeper has Westron, I need not spend all evening translating for the population. And we may hear more to our advantage, if none know I understand them.’

It seemed news travelled fast, faster than the storm, in any case. Llike it, they were expected; unlike it, they were welcome, novel, indeed something new to look at and talk about.

Once they’d eaten and spent a polite hour in the common room and Erestor’s expression had turned from friendly to patient, answering the innkeeper’s questions from his other customers, Glorfindel rose to his feet and spoke in deliberately-atrocious Westron.

‘Your pardon, good Innkeep, but we are tired and are going to our rooms. Send us up a couple of bottles of wine and fresh glasses and we’ll trouble you no more this night.’ He looked around the table and continued in Sindarin. ‘We need to get out of the public eye for a time; it’s uncomfortable, not knowing what they’re saying about me.’

‘I regret to inform you, Lord Glorfindel, that they have no wish to know anything about you. They are far more interested in Lindir…’ 

Laughter broke out from Elladan and Elrohir. Erestor spared them a tolerant glance. ‘And our twins, of course. Consider yourselves a rare delicacy here, you two, and for Varda’s sake, keep your doors locked!’

The travellers retired, meeting up in Erestor’s room to talk things through.

‘I want to know what you think about these people – their romantic leanings aside,’ he began. ‘Politically, socially…’

‘Hard to say when only you can understand the language and everything else had to come through the innkeeper’s Westron!’ Glorfindel remarked. ‘Not unlike humans everywhere; tied to their brief days. Cheerful lot, considering.’

‘Generally, I like them,’ Lindir said. ‘Their voices are happy, their faces smile. Some seem very sad, though. Some of the younger ones… the less old, that is.’

‘The sickness. It is rare in older people. Perhaps they build up immunity… it seems, as our friendly lady at Foothills claims, if they get to the point where their hair has turned grey, they are safe from it.’

‘We should speak to Adar about it,’ Elladan said. ‘He will be interested and he might be able to help.’

‘For myself, they seem genuine. It’s a poor place, but under the guidance of King Elessar, it should grow richer. We’ll see soon enough – the main town’s a half day from Low Village…’

‘Let me guess – it’s called ‘Main Town,’ isn’t it? Glorfindel asked.

Erestor nodded. ‘However did you know?’

 

The storm held off, and held off, finally hitting sometime after midnight, wind and sand and dust battering and blasting against the windows and walls of the inn. Lindir shuddered in his bed, but not with cold, and was grateful for the reassurance of the sturdy shutters outside.

Morning broke to orange skies and thick, swirling dust clouds and as the elves assembled in the common room for breakfast, they found themselves no longer the only guests at the inn; a group of four men, more serious of aspect than the villagers, their clothing of better quality and with knives and swords at the belts were seated together at the best table, formerly the preserve of the elves.

The innkeeper pushed forward, spouting Westron and leading them to another table a little way from the men, making a show of cleaning off the already-clean surface.

‘Arrived just ahead of the storm, my lords, from Main Town. We are honoured to have friends of… followers of… the word is not… they are the Briotani,’ he said in a strangely-level tone. ‘He is brother of our Lady who Leads… now, let me serve you with breakfast.’

‘When they talk of their lady, they smile, do they not?’ Lindir asked. ‘So is it fair to assume, since the innkeeper did not smile when talking of these men, that the brother is less liked?’

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. 

‘Getting to be quite the diplomat-politician, are you not, Lindir?’

‘When can we leave?’ Elladan asked. ‘I no longer feel comfortable here.’

‘Yes. They have been looking,’ Elrohir added. ‘And not just at Lindir this morning.’

‘The skies should clear later today, the innkeeper said. ‘Then it is a matter of whether or not the pass is blocked.’ Erestor glanced around the room, making it look like an attempt to get the innkeeper’s attention rather than assessing the men, but doing both. ‘Yes. They are looking, and talking. They look mostly at our twins, but at Lindir also. I am obviously bad-tempered, they say, and not pretty enough to make up for it, and while Glorfindel’s beautiful hair has been admired, his powerful physique and hunting knives have also been duly noted. I would suggest we return to our rooms after breakfast to wait out the rest of the storm.’

‘Make that my room,’ Glorfindel said with a growl. ‘The rest of my weapons are in there.’

They kept out of sight for most of the day, eating lunch in Glorfindel’s room while they waited out the aftermath of the storm and prepared as much as possible for their departure. 

Mid afternoon, the innkeeper presented himself apologetically and spreading his hands as he spoke.

‘The pass is cleared and the other visitors have left. It is my hope you were not offended by the Briotani’s interest. They are not like the village folk, and do not speak much to strangers. Will you not stay another night here, gentle lords? Low Village Inn will be overfull of those delayed by the storm, and you know the beds here are good. It will be better.’

‘Better for him, I doubt not!’ Glorfindel muttered. ‘What do we think?’

‘Let’s get on!’ Elladan said with a glance at his brother. ‘I – we – no longer feel at ease here. Not with these men around! Their eyes sully us.’

‘Oh, indeed?’ Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s not their eyes you need worry about!’

‘True enough,’ Lindir said. ‘I’ve no wish to stay, either. But if we leave now, what of Low Village? Will it be full?’

‘What if it is? We camp and keep a watch if we must,’ Elrohir replied. ‘I agree with my brother; I would like to be gone from this place.’

‘Very well.’ Erestor turned to the innkeeper. ‘We thank you for your concern. But we must hurry on. We will be back in a few weeks, we will stay in your inn and sleep in your beds then. Please ready our horses.’

‘But, gentle lords, masters… the rooms will be free to you, only stay…’

‘What’s that?’ Glorfindel asked. ‘Free? The man’s mad…’

‘I would not have my lords sorry to be in our land… the Briotani…’

‘No harm will befall us. We are well-armed, my friend,’ Erestor said gently. ‘But we thank you for your concern. The Briotani, you say, are gone. So must we be gone, also.’

The innkeeper shook his head and offered them their food for free, also. ‘The Briotani have gone down the mountain,’ he said. ‘Stay more time, one night only.’

‘We must leave,’ Erestor said firmly. ‘But, believe me, it is not your fault. Your beds are good and the food is good. But we cannot stay.’  
The way down proved longer than they thought and darkness fell before they were halfway down the far mountainside. Although the elves could see the way quite clearly, their horses could not, and so, grumbling that maybe they shouldn’t have listened to the twins, Glorfindel reluctantly agreed that at the next suitable camping place, they would rein in.

‘There’s no danger of rain,’ he said. ‘So we’ll build a fire but not bother with the tents. It won’t take so long to break camp in the morning, then. I’ll take first watch. A drink of wine first, how about it?’


	3. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir is missing...

Erestor opened his eyes, wondering what had happened. His head hurt and he could not move his hands…

Opened his eyes? But they would have been open when he went to sleep last night, the nictitating membrane that protected his sight from dust and dirt while he slept should have slid into place as he entered reverie…

Except he didn’t remember entering reverie, instead, he had allowed Glorfindel to persuade him to drink a beaker of wine from a bottle in his saddlebags…

Outside the headache, he could hear voices, the sound of men, and he held still and listened, translated.

‘You took the wrong ones, you fools! I said the same looking ones…’

‘They are same! Same hair, same height…’

‘No! The other two dark ones…’ Whoever was speaking broke off. ‘We can use this one here, he’s got the right face for it. But not the other.’

Erestor froze. The man could only mean Lindir, was he prisoner, too? And why? Then the rest of the men’s words filtered through as he made sense of the translation... Oh.

Of them all, why did it have to be Lindir?

‘But Himself wanted two!’

‘Well, he’ll just have to share, then! We can’t go back; that big one will be awake soon…’

What shall we do with this one? Kill him?’

‘No – too risky. Himself wants as little fuss as possible. If he’s still out, carry him back to the camp and leave him so he can untie himself with a bit of effort.’

‘But I don’t understand…!’

‘Who said you have to understand, fool?’ a sigh, louder; they were forgetting the need to keep their voices down. ‘It’s this. Herself wants to sell us out to this new king. The king has an elf-wife. Himself wants a present for his sister’s bed; just for a night, a toy for her natal day. But if it’s known that an elf has been... inconvenienced by Herself, what chances her plans go through then?’

‘Oh.’ Silence. ‘But why not kill the other one?’

‘Because if a dead elf is traced back to Himself, or to us, then we’ll probably have a war on our hands, not just an incident. And when Elf and his friends wake up, they’ll be proper cross at the treatment and Herself has even less chance to sell us out. Come on. Check the bindings on the pretty one and then bring the flask.’

Erestor remembered to keep his eyes closed and to make himself loll and sag against the unpleasant human hands that pulled at him. His head was tipped back and liquid – a heavy, bitter wine – poured into his mouth. Although he coughed and spluttered and began to struggle, he swallowed enough of it that the blackness fell over him once more.

*  
His next awakening was, if anything, more uncomfortable than before. There was the sound of someone swearing nearby, in Sindarin, which was reassuring, but didn’t help his headache any. He couldn’t prevent a groan.

Instantly, the swearing stopped.

‘Erestor, you’re awake? Are you well?’ Glorfindel’s voice asked.

‘Hardly. You?’

‘I feel as if a company of Rohirrim are riding through my head! And my hands are bound…’

‘Mine, also.’

‘Head? Or hands?’

‘Both. Are the twins here?’

‘Yes, I can see them, but they’re unconscious… I hope they’re unconscious… Is Lindir with you?’ 

Erestor sighed. ‘No, he’s been taken… I woke up and heard them talking… they were after the twins…’

‘What? Why?’ 

‘Why do you think?’ Erestor tried to work himself into a sitting position, groaning again as his head began to thump and thud worse than ever. ‘They decided they didn’t want me.’

‘I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so much just to talk… and if Lindir was with us. Come on, get yourself over here and put those long fingers of yours to work on these ropes.’

It was easier for Erestor to shuffle over on his knees than to get to his feet and stagger over to where Glorfindel was bound against a tree.

‘I think they left my weapons – what kind of men are these? Fools?’

‘There was never any intention to kill or rob us, my friend,’ Erestor replied. ‘I think they are cleverer than you realise. We were meant to survive, and to find our friend gone, and to be so outraged that we protest to the High King – whose elven wife has been noted – and he will reject the alliance with the fiefdom…’

Glorfindel growled.

‘Indeed, so. Come, take comfort from the fact that they want us to behave in a certain way; this is why they have bound my hands in front of my body and have left a knife conveniently at your side…’

It took him a few minutes to cut through the ropes binding Glorfindel to the tree, but still, it was done, and the golden-haired warrior rubbed at his hands and arms before taking the knife and releasing Erestor’s hands.

‘Ai, what did they do to us, Erestor?’

‘Drugged the wine you brought from the inn, I think…’

‘I brought no wine; I thought the twins had put it in and I simply found it…’

‘I am sure I would have known, had they done so. But certainly, when they brought me back to you, they poured something like that down my throat. Perhaps the Briotani put it in your pack.’ He rubbed his wrists. ‘Look to the twins, can you? I’ll bring water.’

When Erestor got back with the waterskin, the twins were coming round, Glorfindel talking to them reassuringly.

‘What happened?’ Elrohir asked, a hand going to his head.

‘Yes; and where is Lindir?’

‘We do not know where Lindir is. But we’re going to find out,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Once we’re able, we’re going back to High Inn; the innkeeper seemed very keen for us to stay another night – I’m sure he knows something…’

It was starting to get light by the time they were ready to set out back up the trail, and day had fully broken when the reined in at High Inn once more. Glorfindel yelled in execrable Westron until a pot boy appeared, flinched and fled and returned presently with the innkeeper grumbling at his side.

‘Very well, and what can I…?’ He started when he saw who it was, and began to smile until he noted the extra, empty horse and the expression on Glorfindel’s face. ‘Gentle lords, let my boy take your horses and come in to the house. And tell – where is your friend?’

‘Glorfindel!’ Erestor snapped as the golden-haired elf began to growl. ‘Let me deal with this. Indoors is best.’

He dismounted and nodded to the innkeeper. ‘Breakfast for four, and a few moments of your time.’

*

‘Gentle lords, I bade you stay; I wanted you to stay, the innkeeper protested. ‘I would have lost money to get you to stay!’ 

Erestor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The conversation was still taking place in Westron as Glorfindel had protested that Erestor’s knowledge of the native language was the one slim advantage they currently had.

‘You did, it is true. But you did not say why…’

‘How might I do so? You are strangers, passing through once or twice – the Briotani are here all weeks… My head it likes to be attached to my shoulders, gentle lords!’

‘But I am a very ungentle lord,’ Glorfindel snarled. ‘And your head can only be removed from your shoulders once while your fingers can be removed from your hand at least ten times…’

‘Glorfindel, enough!’ Erestor said sharply. ‘Forgive him, master innkeeper – we are indeed worried for our friend. Where would he be? Where would these Briotani take him?’

‘How can I know? I am but a humble innkeeper and I try not to hear too much of the Briotani’s talk…’

‘What about this?’ Glorfindel pulled a wine bottle out from his pack. ‘It’s one of your bottles, is it not?’

‘I… wine bottles look the same the world over, but, yes, it may be…’

‘We found this in our baggage amongst the provisions we ordered from you. Thinking it a mistake, or a gift, we drank and woke to find we had been drugged and our friend gone…’

‘But you live! You are unharmed, and that is good, yes?’

‘Yes… but we must find our friend. Where should we start to look?’

The innkeeper sighed. ‘I cannot say. But if you go to the Lady who Leads, she may know. Or she may be able to help you… but it is her natal day, soon, and there is the council meeting that day, to make sure we join the realm of the High King. It will be hard to get near her, and if the Briotani see you…’

‘Do not worry about that. Where should we go?’

‘Main Town. The Council Chambers are in the market square, and the house of the lady is nearby. But, gentle lords…’

‘We will take our old rooms for the day and we will rest and recover from the drugged wine. And then we will leave. And not storm or Briotani will stop us!’


	4. Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir wakes from his drugged sleep to find himself amongst strangers...

Lindir woke and found he could not move. Pain and panic threatened to overwhelm him, but he took a deep breath and tried to assess his condition. Headache. Nausea. Hands, knees, ankles constricted and throbbing and burning… he was bound, then, lying on his side, his head lolling and bumping against an uncomfortable surface… he smelled timber, horses, something mealy, and a rough fabric beneath his face suggested sacking. Sounds, next; a rumbling, creaking… he was in a cart or a wagon of some sort.

He felt weak, too weak to struggle against his bonds, and he fought against dread. He was no warrior; he was a minstrel, he could no more defend himself than Lord Glorfindel could sing…

And what of his companions? Were they safe? Where were the twins? He struggled to raise himself enough to see if there was anyone with him… He felt very alone, and for his friends’ sake he hoped it was so… his head swam and he lay down again, but not before he had seen that the cart was covered, small, and he was its only occupant.

All things passed. He knew this. In time, the pain would recede, the journey would end and surely things would be better? Since he was alone, the others must be safe, somewhere, mustn’t they?

He closed his eyes, tried to settle himself less uncomfortably on the bed of the wagon, and prepared to wait.

Time passed, as it always did.

He must have fallen asleep, or lost consciousness again, because suddenly he was awake, aware once more, feeling less nauseous but still in pain and with the added fear of knowing there was another presence in the now-stationary cart. He had barely had time to assimilate this when he heard the heavy breathing he associated with humans, and smelled sweat and stale wine. And his hair was being stroked and fondled , strands of it being caressed by thick, dirty fingers and he felt sick all over again as he remembered what the old woman had told Erestor of how the men on this side of the pass took males to wife, sometimes, and he began to fear the thought and tried to prevent himself wondering exactly what she had meant by that… he shuddered, and the man laughed and said something rough and guttural, to be answered by another voice, harsh and authoritative. The man let go of Lindir’s hair and replied in a placating tone, disappearing from view and taking his body odour with him, and Lindir breathed again. 

It was less dark now, and while his elvish eyes could see perfectly well in the dark, he was grateful for the extra clarity. A bright streak in the canvas covering the cart indicated it was light outside, and glints and gleams of daylight found their way in through other gaps and cracks in the canvas covering.

Form somewhere outside, the two voices were continuing their discussion. He knew not a word of what was being said, of course, and could only guess from the tone and timbre of the voices what was going on. The one who had befouled his hair sounded whiny, supplicatory, and Lindir hoped that meant the other was telling him not to touch Lindir again… he did not like to think why the other man might be giving such orders, though. 

Suddenly, he was miserably aware how much he missed Imladris, how much he had taken it for granted. It had been more than just his home – it was a haven of peace and ease, somewhere he could make all the songs he cared and play music all day long, and it would be considered a full day’s work. And if he had, on occasion, to help Lord Elrond with unexpected guests, it was a small price to pay for the freedom to create music and poetry.

He wished he’d never left, he wished he’d refused Elrond’s challenge. For while Elrond had been right – Lindir had not seen much of the world – that was mostly because he hadn’t wanted to; he had no soul for adventure. Bad enough riding south through the mountains, but now this… when he saw Lord Elrond again, he was going to bring the full weight of his poetic ability to bear to make his point as to how awful it was and how ill-judged sending him on the trip had been.

If, he realised bleakly. If he saw Elrond again.

Suddenly, Lindir wanted to cry.

*

He huddled into his misery and allowed it to pass over and through him, not giving in to tears, lest the men hear and come to mock or poke or prod, but allowing the full weight of his despair to cover him like a blanket, hiding him. For locked this deeply into himself, all he could feel was his own sorrow, all he could sense was the bleakness of his fëa, and it was awful, but it was the only way through this that he knew. Only by permitting himself to feel so lost could he begin to find his way again.

He was alive. The pain he was feeling had largely subsided, and what was left was centred around his wrists, knees, ankles where the ropes bit in. So that meant he could not be too badly hurt. His head was clearing, now, and he realised he’d been drugged. They wanted him alive, and they wanted him unharmed, and they were taking him…where?

The only place it could be was to the fiefdom they had been heading for in any case; the lady who governed them wanted an alliance with Gondor, she knew about elves and their importance to the High King, surely once they realised he was an elf, they would release him? Surely they would not risk their lady’s anger just for the sake of… what?

Voices again outside, raised and giving orders; the one from before, one or two others… the same one ordering, though… and the wagon began to move once more, rumbling and the flashes of brightness dimming as it went beneath some sort of bridge or… no, there was the sound of gates closing. Through an arch into a courtyard, then, maybe a stable yard…

Presently, light flooded in as the canvas was pulled back, momentarily blinding him until the nictitating membranes in his eyes flashed over to filter out the glare. Hands reached for him, many hands, grabbing and pulling and dragging him free of the cart, one of them lingering too long on his buttocks until a sharp word made the hand snatch away suddenly… he was hauled, carried – he had no strength to walk even if he had been unbound – out of the cart and a cloak tossed over his head to obscure his view. The hands on him were harsh, bruising as they lugged him across an open space and then into a building – he could hear by the echo of the breathing of the men that they were in an enclosed space – and then the angle they held him at altered, the sounds changed and he knew he was being carried up stairs… many stairs. He lost count after sixty or so, for the men struggled to bear him and at one point dropped him down on a turn in the staircase to catch their breath. There had been three turns so far, three flights, and he wondered how much further.

How much longer?

Another flight, a corridor, the squeak of a door and he was dumped on the ground like a sack of grain. He felt the texture of a carpet beneath his cheek as his head hit the floor and the cloak covering him flared away. There were more voices now, one even more authoritative than the previous leader’s, who in his turn sounded placatory and apologetic. It was such a hard-edged language, every word sounded full of the threat of knives and pain… it was almost as bad to listen to as the tongue of orcs…

He was pulled to his feet and supported by two hard bodies at either side, clutched by their arms, and the cloak pulled fully off his head. He kept his gaze lowered, hiding the flash of his eyes as the protective membrane flashed across and back and he adjusted to the light.  
An order given. He was released, and fell to his knees, struggling not to topple further and his chin was grasped, forcing his head up so that he was forced to look at his captor.

Or, at least, at the shepherd, the person in authority here; the man looked far too respectable and well-dressed to be a kidnapper or a slaver…

He was broad and bearded, his hair meticulously styled and curled and with a gold circlet on his head, rings on his broad hands. He said something, directing his attention towards Lindir and the phrase ending with an uplift of tone; a question. Lindir understood himself to be addressed, and swallowed to try and moisten his mouth to frame a fair answer. His chin was released, but the hand sat restrainingly on his shoulder.

That awful local dialect again! He answered in Sindar, knowing he wouldn’t be understood, but then, this shepherd ought to know he wouldn’t know the local speech either.

‘I am Lindir, of Imladris, the house of Lord Elrond,’ he said, as clearly as he could, trying to keep his voice even. ‘I think there has been some mistake. I have lost my friends and…’

The man said something harsh, and the restraining hand shook Lindir roughly, silencing him.

More orders – instructions, now, the tone less stark and rough, and Lindir realised why when a woman came forward and curtseyed. As she replied, he heard the word ‘Briot’ – was this, then, the brother of the woman who ran this fiefdom? He gulped. From what he’d gathered, Briot would have no love for elves…

Two of the men – Briotani, he supposed – came forward at a word and dragged him to his feet again, pulling him after them out of the room while the woman followed, scolding, maybe, from the way the men replied and grumbled.

He was led – dragged, for the men didn’t seem really to care how they handled him – along the corridors of what was obviously a large, well-appointed building. Glimpses through open doors showed good furnishings and the chamber he finally found himself in was bright and pleasant, and for a moment he thought things were looking up, especially when his feet and knees were untied and he was lowered into a chair, But through the sudden pain of returning circulation, his hope faded as he saw more men arrive, taking up guard positions at the door. Two more women had arrived, also, younger in appearance than the one currently scolding the men. Briefly, he wondered whether he would even have noticed that, before he left Imladris…

A knife was pointed at him while his hands were unbound, but really, he was in so much pain and so debilitated by the drugs and the journey that he couldn’t have made a bid for escape, even if there had been somewhere to go.

Suddenly he was pulled to his feet once more and frogmarched, legs buckling, into an adjoining room – a bathing chamber, it seemed, the three women in attendance and the two men guarding him. One of the younger women began to reach for the fastenings of his clothes, and he tried to protest, but a buffet on the shoulder from one of the guards made him fall silent and stand as well as he was able while his clothes were removed.

The men were staring, and the women were staring, and he felt himself blush under the inquisitive eyes until another shove made him scramble into the bathtub. It was humiliating, and even the sympathetic gasps from one of the women when she saw the blood and bruising on his wrists and ankles didn’t make him feel any less embarrassed. At least now he was covered, to some degree, by the water and although the women converged on him to wash and scrub at his body and soak and soap his hair, their hands were gentle and their eyes kind. Or was it kindness? Was it pity?

The oldest woman spoke to him, her voice as soothing and soft as the rough language could make it. He answered in Sindarin, just in case, just to feel part of a conversation.

‘There has been a mistake. I should not be here. Ah, do not… I can manage…’

But the washcloths and soap went everywhere, and he was only grateful that he could not feel hands and fingers on his body. 

The senior dame decided they were done, and shook out a towel to wrap him in as the others encouraged him to stand. The guards spoke sharply, and the woman replied sternly as he gratefully hid behind the cloth. It was rough and harsh, like the language, but he felt clean, and after the journey in the cart, that was a relief.

One of the guards stepped forwards with a smirk and something in his hands. It looked like a chain, and to his utter humiliation, he was grabbed from behind by the elbows and restrained while a leather collar was fitted to his neck and stitched in place as he stood. It was a wonder his skin wasn’t pierced, and he was terrified, not knowing what else would happen, but he didn’t dare speak. While his neck was receiving its collar, a wide strap of leather was being similarly stitched in place over his belly and hips, pulled tight and sewn in place. His wrists were similarly cuffed, his ankles, and the entirety fastened together with a chain which, while fine, was strong and well-forged.

The man held onto the chain, tugging when he felt like it, while the women fussed around with more towels, drying and combing out Lindir’s hair. He wished they would stop; why would they need to do this, bathe him and dress his hair and chain him? The only reason he could think was that he had somehow fallen in with slavers… but it made no sense… they were treating him badly and well at the same time.  
He was hungry, but more, he was thirsty. He had tried to catch some of the water from the rinsing of his hair, but he had only managed a little and that was soapy. 

‘May I have some water, please?’ he asked, again in Sindarin, addressing himself to the mature woman who seemed to be in charge of the maids.

She looked at him and asked something he couldn’t understand, so he tried to mime the act of drinking, only to have his hands yanked down by the guard with the chain. Again, the dame protested, and sent one of the maids out. She returned with a cup of water, and he drank greedily when the cup was put to his lips, only to have it dashed away before he was half done. The woman scolded, the guard snarled, but Lindir looked at the one who had given him to drink and thanked her. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t understand.

And suddenly they were moving again, the women standing aside and the guards tugging and pulling at the collar and the cuffs, making the point that he was bound and chained. They pushed him into a room – a rather large room dominated by a huge bed that was covered with a burgundy and red damask counterpane. The chain was undone and refastened so he was bound by the collar to the bed and the ankle cuffs now fastened to the chain so that he could lie on his side, curled up, but any extension of movement pulled at the chains and put pressure on his neck.

Satisfied he was properly hogtied, the guards left the room and he tested his bonds; it felt like being slowly throttled when he tried to move, any attempt to extend his arms or legs from the foetal position causing the collar to squeeze his neck and the blood supply to his head diminish so that everything began to swim and darken.

Time passed and he tried not to give in to despair; he was clean, at least, and had drunk some water, so that he felt less ill than he had. The cuffs, really, were causing less pain than the ropes had, even if being chained was so shameful. The bed beneath him was comfortable, but the room had a lived-in smell and he realised he probably hadn’t been brought here to have a nice lie down.

He swallowed, trying to quell the rising fear that rose up suddenly and whispered all kinds of things about the leer on the face of some of the guards, the touch of pudgy fingers on his hair, the swagger of the one he thought was Briot…

He felt cold, which was impossible; he was an elf and although he was aware of temperature differences, they ought not bother him. But he was shivering where he lay.

And then the door opened and the man who had spoken to him earlier, the one he assumed was Briot came into the room and stood staring at him and Lindir realised something.

Briot was not one of the shepherds. He was one of the wolves.


	5. Search Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir's friends set out to look for him...

The four elves spent the day recovering and planning. The following morning they set off as early as they could, making their way down the mountain path once more but this time not stopping for anything until the mountain rolled into lazy hills and the country changed from brown and grey and became gold and bronze instead. There was a smattering of vegetation – not much, enough to show what a poor land this was, and they began to pass outlying farm buildings, isolated, each in the middle of vast tracts of land.

‘I suppose it takes that much just to sustain one family,’ Glorfindel said, shaking his head at the paucity of the landscape.

‘It’s greener ahead,’ Erestor remarked. ‘But it’s a stark place indeed.’

Early afternoon, and they reached the outskirts of Main Town, such as it was. Dusty streets with thin canines lying outside some of the houses, buildings with thick walls and stout shutters.

Few people were in the streets; it was hot and dry and the very atmosphere was withering.

‘The air feels uncomfortable,’ Erestor said.

‘So do the stares,’ Glorfindel added. ‘Your pardon!’ he accosted a thin, dusty passer-by, a man of indeterminate age. ‘We seek an inn, do you understand me? Is there an inn? A hostelry? It is called, ‘Middle Town Tavern?’

The man stared and then hurried on.

‘I’m sure that’s what the innkeeper in High Village said it was called,’ Glorfindel muttered. 

‘Glorfindel, your Westron is worse than mine!’ Elladan laughed. ‘He probably just couldn’t understand you!’

‘I think it would be the same response however good the Westron,’ Erestor said. ‘Well, if we cannot find our way to the tavern our host from High Village Inn suggested, then we should attempt to find the market place.’

‘Or get off the streets anyway.’ Glorfindel suggested, carefully not looking at a cluster of well-dressed men whose eyes were following them down the road. ‘It looks like the Briotani, when they came down the mountain, came down on this side. And they have found some friends.’

‘There is a street to the left. We will turn down it as if we have a destination in mind,’ Erestor said. ‘We will keep calm and we will remember we are elves, we are all armed, and even I can fight if I must. But we will try not to kill any of them unless we have to. It might make a bad impression.’

The twins laughed, lightening the tension and the watching Briotani, hearing the laughter, seeing several townsfolk look round at the sound, retreated into the shadows.

The side road came up, they turned down it and kept riding. A small, dusty boy kicked and scuffed at the dry ground, raising clouds of thin yellow earth which drifted like smoke, and ran off down the street.

The houses here were fewer, little clusters of two or three together and then empty spaces before the next. Occasionally, there were signs that the occupants had tried to make a garden; thirsty-looking rows of vegetables lined up in rows.

‘I am not sure I like this better; we are not under the eyes of the Briotani, but the houses are staring at us!’ Elrohir said softly.

‘We can outride the houses,’ Elladan said. 

There was another junction ahead, and the small, dusty boy appeared suddenly once more, standing right at the centre of the crossroads.   
‘Are we to ride him down?’ Glorfindel said, when the boy did not move even as they approached within talking distance.

‘We are to rein in,’ Erestor said, pulling up his horse.

‘Elsh,’ the boy said, and bowed to them.

‘Elsh?’ Glorfindel echoed, and the lad straightened from his bow, and nodded ferociously, tugging at the rounded tops of his ears.

‘Elsh!’ He swept his arms to the side, gesturing down the street and even further away from the main thoroughfare.

‘You want us to go with you, urchin?’ Glorfindel said in his appalling Westron. ‘We are elves, child, not elsh…’

‘Elsh! Elsh…’

‘Elves,’ Erestor said, but the boy was running ahead down the side street. ‘Glorfindel? What do you think?’

‘I think the Briotani would not send an urchin out to entrap us. We’ll follow. But have a care…!’

‘What, don’t offer the bottle of drugged wine around, do you mean?’ Elladan said, and Elrohir laughed. 

Even Erestor smiled when Glorfindel protested. ‘It was in my saddle bags! I thought maybe I’d ordered it and forgotten, or the inn keeper had misunderstood…’

‘Well, it’s done now,’ Erestor said. ‘And see? Our friend is back.’

The dusty boy had indeed appeared once more. He brought with him a tall, thin, dusty man with wispy grey hair and thick, lumpy boots.

‘Erestor, will you try to keep to Westron? If word gets round we speak the tongue, and the Briotani hear of it, they might realise you understood them when you were captive…’

‘I know that… I will keep it as a last resort. I will greet this man as a friend,’ he said, dismounting and giving the reins to Elrohir.

‘Well met, sir,’ he said in Westron, placing his hand over his heart and bowing with grave courtesy. ‘We come from High Village Inn. Our friend there told us to seek Middle Town Tavern…’

‘Master Elsh,’ the man said, bowing in return with his hands clutched together before him, ‘welcome be. Middle Town Tavern is full. Come to our home.’

‘Full!’ Glorfindel repeated. ‘Why would it be full? There is no storm coming!’

‘Storm is coming, but not of sand,’ the man said. ‘Pardon, lord. To follow now, unless Briotani are friends to you? They fill the inn. They sit on the street.’

‘Very well. Lead on,’ Erestor said with a glance at Glorfindel, reverting to Sindarin. ‘I do not see what other choice we have. Plainly, we are expected.’

Ten minutes’ walking brought them to a tawny, desiccated small holding. Chickens and a goat scratched and browsed what little vegetation there was, but there was, at least, a shaded corner for the horses.

Their guide opened the door to the house and gestured them in.

‘I suppose you want us to leave our weapons outside the door, Erestor?’ Glorfindel asked in tones that suggested he would not support such an idea.

‘It would be better manners,’ Erestor replied. ‘But it probably is not wise. However, I will lay my sword inside the doorway as a sign of good faith. They will not see our knives, worn as they are under our tunics, so we may keep those about us.’

‘All right,’ Elladan was already unbuckling his sword belt, his twin echoing his movements.

The man’s eyes widened as he saw the sword belts come off and the weapons lain inside his doorway, and he shook his head in wonder.

‘Enter, Masters Elsh,’ he said. ‘Wife has food.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Erestor said gravely, stooping to enter under the low lintel. ‘Greetings to you, lady,’ 

The woman was working at a little table near the window and she turned to drop a curtsey to them. ‘Mashters Elsh,’ she said. ‘Welcome, be sitted.’

‘Our thanks,’ Erestor said, and seated himself on a chair at a table, the others following suit and joining him there. 

‘Please, eat, drink. Wife has no speech of Westron,’ the man said as the woman set plates and beakers and served them with water and bread and cheese. ‘Kin to Haar, at High Village. Wife is Carli, me is Torre.’

‘Please thank your wife for her kindness. I am Erestor. My friends are Glorfindel…’ He paused for the blond elf to nod, ‘Elladan, and Elrohir.’

‘Is same-soul elsh? Both looking as one?’

‘Same soul?’ Elladan said.

‘We’re twins,’ Elrohir offered. ‘We were born at the same time.’

‘To the same mother, of course,’ Elladan added.

‘We say, soul-bairns,’ Torre said. ‘Share a soul. Is good luck to see such.’

‘Maybe that’s why Briot wanted us,’ Elrohir said lightly.

‘Briot? What you know of Briot?’

‘My friend…’ Erestor glanced at the others. Glorfindel nodded agreement to share their tale. ‘When we set off from High Village Inn, there were five of us. Now there are four.’ He paused to allow Torre time to process and translate his words. ‘We were drugged, and I and our friend Lindir were taken prisoner by the Briotani. But I think there was a mistake, and they had been trying to catch our… our soul-bairn friends here. They drugged me again and took me back to my friends. But not Lindir, and we are worried about him.’

‘Came a covered wagon this morning. It was drove by Briotani. They went by.’

‘Was our friend in it?’ Elladan demanded.

‘Where were they going?’ Elrohir asked.

‘Patience!’ Erestor said. ‘I know you’re worried about Lindir; we all are. But remember, our host is not used to Westron; do not alarm him with your over-eagerness!’

Torre scratched his head, looking at the twins. ‘You are eager for him. Is he wife to you?’

‘What? No…! Erestor, tell him!’

‘If you will permit me to be slightly inventive, for all our sakes?’ Erestor waited for the twins to nod.

‘Just don’t give me wife and several elflings, do you hear?’ Glorfindel warned.

‘Torre, we have heard how the people here take male wives… but our wives are at home, a long way from us, and we wait until we return to them. We are elves, we need no other than our own wives… Lindir has no wife and has never been a wife.’

‘Then I hope you may find him swiftly, for it is what the Briotani do – they find wives for their lord.’

‘What? But, not Lindir! He’s just not…’

‘Peace, Elrohir! We know. Of all of us, I think even you and your brother would cope better than Lindir.’

‘Let’s hope they do not have to,’ Glorfindel put in, and changed to Westron. ‘Torre – where would they take him? Where can we find him?’

‘Good lords – not now. Do not seek him now. Briotani in the streets, and it is daytime. You will be seen, and suspected, and held…’

‘Suspected of what? Of being Elves? Of travelling to a distant land to expand our minds and make new friends?’

‘Later, I send out the boy. Nobody notices the boy, nobody cares about a small boy… he will look and listen and see and come back to tell. Until then, sit, eat, drink, rest. Talk of how it is in lands of Elsh, where the King is good to all?’

‘Tales of the king?’ Elrohir lifted his eyes at Erestor. ‘What shall we tell him? That our sister says he snores? That he doesn’t like having wet snow shoved down his neck?’

‘If you think the concept of snow is one you can adequately convey in Westron, Elrohir, please feel free,’ Erestor said, hiding a smile. ‘But perhaps, if we are to be here a while, it will give us the opportunity to set one or two things straight…’


	6. A Small Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir...

Lindir closed his eyes against the sight of the man, Briot. His mind sought to flee, but all he could think about was a lecture he had been required to attend, along with all of Elrond’s household, when times were more dangerous. It had, he remembered, been Glorfindel who delivered the lecture…

_‘The world is growing dark outside our borders. Fell things are abroad. Large parties of orcs and half-orcs have been sighted and while we will fight to protect our valley, there is an increasing risk of danger… it is possible some of you may be unlucky, some of you may be taken…’_

The bed dipped at Lindir’s back as the man settled onto it. Lindir tried to ignore him, to disregard his presence. His mind took him back to Glorfindel’s calm voice, reciting the theory of sexual abuse.

_‘…Understand, rape is not about sex, although it is part of it – it’s about power. A rapist will force their victim simply because they can. Sometimes it’s used as a weapon, a means to intimidate and weaken... If it happens, try to take care of yourself in any way you can. If you fight, you’ll probably be beaten as well as raped. If you struggle, your internal injuries are likely to be significantly worse than if you do not. ’_

A hand tugged at Lindir’s hair, yanked at his chains, letting him feel the pull of the leather straps against his skin. He retreated to Glorfindel’s lecture once more.

_‘If it happens, well, we are elves, we will heal, all things pass in time… it is uncomfortable listening, but better to know what to expect. There is a tale, that one can become aroused during such an attack. It is true, and it is very confusing for male and female both. The victim can fear it means they like the act, that at some level they must have encouraged it. But it is simply the response of the body, an attempt to protect itself however it may.’ Glorfindel had paused. ‘Every attack, every victimis different and we all process such things differently. I mean only to offer hope one can endure, one can survive. At the time, it is true, one might not wish to survive, but… we are elves, we are remarkable creatures. We are far stronger than we look…._

‘…stronger than we look…’ Lindir repeated to himself. He could feel Briot’s hot breath on his neck, and he forced himself not to shudder. Fear clawed at him, pawed at him, heightening his senses until he became aware of every sound, every breath, every touch. Briot began to maul him, pulling at Lindir’s chains and squeezing and compressing his flesh. And to talk, his tone questioning, sly, commanding.

If it was true, what Glorfindel had said, that this was about power, then perhaps Lindir did not need to be quite so much the victim… He kept quiet. In his mind, it seemed that if he protested, or flinched away, then he was refusing permission. But as long as he didn’t refuse, then he was not being forced, and even though Briot did not know what Lindir was thinking, still, it took away some of the man’s power over him. It was a small rebellion, but it was his.

The hands that groped and pawed were becoming insistent, hard, and Lindir found himself being rearranged on the bed as if he were nothing but a mannequin, his knees beneath him, his buttocks raised and he shuddered in desperate dread. Panic rose in him – how could he endure, how pretend he could come through this… this invasion?

He felt the constriction of the collar at his throat, tighter at this angle and painful on his neck, a minor distraction while Briot pushed unwelcome fingers at him, and as Lindir tried to escape into his mind, he realised something, and he turned his head, ducking down, so that the collar compressed and throttled him, restricting the blood supply to his head so that, just as he began to feel something worse than a finger against him, black spots clouded his sight, there was a strange sense of hushed disassociation, and he passed into merciful unconsciousness.

*

Lindir woke to misery. His head ached, his neck felt raw and chafed, and he had a raging pain inside him, far too deep inside, a throbbing ache, and there was a stinging, burning sensation at the entrance to his body, also, that told him Briot had not given up his intentions simply because his victim was unconscious. He swallowed, his mouth and throat dry, and he tried to see if he was hurt anywhere else… no. No, it was just the pain from his restraints and the other, far worse, far more intrusive injury.

He passed his hands down his body and found, to his relief, that his stomach and thighs were clean; he had not, then, succumbed to the strange effect Glorfindel had warned about. He had passed out first. It was another triumph, that Briot had not made him ashamed of himself.

Gradually the headache subsided and the discomfort from his neck increased accordingly; he tried desperately to ignore the other, intimate pain since thinking of that, of what had happened, of what he remembered of the experience before he blacked out, was making him feel physically nauseous.  
He was an elf, he would endure. He had forever to recover from this. It was over.

He tried not to wonder why, if it was over, he was still shackled to a bed? 

Something was different, he realised. He had been on top of the bed previously, but now he was under the covers. The sheets felt reassuringly soft and comfortable. 

As yet, he had kept his eyes closed for fear of what he might see, but now, encouraged by the silk against his skin, he chanced a look around, pushing himself up in the bed.

The movement made his headache return and increased the throb of his nether regions, but he tried to ignore the pain and focus on his environment. Yes. It was a different bed in a different room. Everything was pale and light, except for the counterpane which here was a rich, dark green. There was a deep, thick brown rug on the floor at the end of the bed, and a door in the wall opposite. A narrow sideboard stood along the wall, a bowl of fruit set on it along with a decanter of wine and a glass on a little table nearby. The sight reminded him how hungry and thirsty he was.  
On the wall to the left of the bed was a large window; there was a door on the wall opposite it, and, when he twisted his head awkwardly to look, another door set into the wall against which the head of the bed rested, tucked into the corner. Something about the style of the furnishings, the lightness of the room even though it was getting dark outside, made him think it was a woman’s chamber. A hairbrush and comb set on a small dresser suggested it to be in use.

What was going on?

Suddenly he heard something outside the room, and he found himself panicking, frightened. He forced himself to lie back down, to cover himself as much as he could with the silk sheets, to try to be calm. It might have nothing to do with him. It might only be someone walking by.

He heard voices now, female voices, two of them. One sounded deferential, and yet easy, as if a certain degree of familiarity was permitted between it and the other voice, which was decidedly more authoritative. And yet it did not sound as harsh, this voice, as those other female voices had.

The door opened and a globe of brightness filled the room; someone had brought in a lamp and set it down. A rustle of skirts and two sets of footfalls. One of the other doors opened, and the sounds of the women receded. Lindir found he’d been holding his breath, and tried to relax.

A giggle from the deferential voice, a few light words in which he heard the word ‘Briot’ mentioned. A question and a decided answer – he thought it must be a maid and her mistress talking – and the maid left the bedchamber, closing the door behind her.

And Lindir knew he was being observed. He could hear gentle breathing, getting louder as the woman approached the bed. Unable to help it, he flinched, and the brightness of the lamp increased as it was brought to the bedside table, and he felt the silk sheets being cautiously peeled away from his face. He screwed his eyes more tightly closed, like an elfling scared of discovery.

Suddenly the covers moved again, pulled briskly down to his shoulders and he could not help cringing away from the sudden exposure to the air, to the woman’s eyes. He turned his head and to his shame, he whimpered with fear. He heard the woman gasp and step back.

She began to speak, her voice low and soft and urgent, and strangely kind, and it was too much for him; he could have coped with commands, harsh words, but her kindness undid him, and he felt his eyes prick with tears even as he turned his head to look at her, to see if her face matched her voice.

The woman was not beautiful – few human females could compare to elves – but she had an interesting face, and her expression was concerned. Her hair was neither as long or as fair as Glorfindel’s, she was tall, for a human female, broad at the hips as was the way of them, dressed in a plain white garment that fell from neck to ankles, leaving her arms bare but doing her body no favours. She said something more, her tone lifting at the end so he thought she had asked him something.

‘Help me?’ he asked, his throat so dry he could barely understand himself. ‘I am – I am lost.’

She approached again with some determination and reached for the covers, and he panicked again and grabbed at the silk sheet, holding it close against his chest.

‘Lady, leave me alone, I beg you, I cannot bear it, do not touch me, please, I…’

Her face became – not stern, exactly, but impatient, and she spoke again, her tone annoyed, he thought, and she blew the breath out of her lungs as if exasperated before speaking softly and kindly once more; a question. He watched as she stepped away, giving him space to relax, lifting her fingers towards her mouth in a mime to suggest eating.

Yes, please, sweet Eru, yes, something, anything to eat or drink… a nod was universal, surely?

It seemed to be, for she crossed to the fruit bowl and brought back a bunch of grapes, placing them near where his fingers clutched the sheet and then retreating to sideboard again. He appreciated the moment’s space, and began to eat.

The grapes were purple, fat, rich and full of juice, moistening his mouth and making him greedy for them. Too soon, they were gone, his mouth and dry throat refreshed, and he licked the last of the juice from his fingers.

She was looking at him, watching as he licked his lips, unconsciously echoing his action. He tipped his head to her, remembering his manners. ‘Thank you,’ he said. 

The woman approached bearing a fruit sliced in pieces. She said something as she broke a piece in half and passed it to him, waiting for him to start so that they were eating together. He caught a name; Kovalia, and he lowered his gaze, dipping his head before pointing at himself. ‘Lindir,’ he said. ‘Kovalia, Lindir.’

She answered swiftly, and he nodded and relief helped him to almost smile as she repeated his name back at him, saying, he thought, something about the fruit, maybe, but he was glad to have a name for her, for her to know his name. He felt safer, somehow, with the woman knowing his identity, as if it made him a person once more and he could forget he had been treated impersonally by Briot.

‘Kovalia?’ he began tentatively. ‘I am lost, and I have lost my friends, and I need to find them again. I do not care what has happened, I will not speak of it, only please, help me…’

She listened as if hanging onto every word, and when he ended, she paused for a moment.

A short, brisk phrase, and there was a knife in her hand, and it was heading towards him – what was this, was he to be hurt further?

‘Don’t!’ he cried out, frantic, pushing himself back and bringing his arms up to cover his throat. ‘Don’t, Kovalia!’

She gave a cry and began to talk quickly, her hands spread and empty now as she backed away from him, and he realised she’d not intended to harm him.

Presently, all the while watching him, she turned the knife so that the blade was pointing towards her own body and offered it to him on her open palm with a bow.

‘Do you mean it? You would free me?’ he whispered, reaching for the blade, a tremor in his hand as he reached for it, and he felt the silk of her skin beneath his fingers, cool under his heated skin. Abruptly she swung away, sitting at the foot of the bed, presenting him the target of her back… did she have no fear? Or did she not care that he could end her small human life in an instant?

He did not, of course. He sliced and worried at the stitching on the leather restraints until they were all severed, discarded, and he slid the chains aside. He was free, and as he moved, he saw the woman stiffen, flinch.

She really thought he would kill her.

His fear changed to pity and sympathy. Who was Kovalia, that she had chained males brought to her bed and then freed them and gave them the chance to kill her? 

Or was it possible that she hadn’t expected a prisoner?

He placed his hand carefully on her shoulder and spoke into her ear.

‘Kovalia, I am grateful,’ he said slowly, encouraging her to turn so that he could look into her eye, show his thanks and trust. He closed his eyes and bowed with his hand on his chest, as he would to a lord. ‘I’m grateful.’

It seemed that she had seen how his neck was injured, for she reached out towards him. Unable to bear her touch at his throat, he caught her hand between his own, finding a smile for her.

Kovalia spoke again, lightly, kindly, as she pulled her hand out of the contact and rose to cross to her dressing table, bringing back a little jar which she handed to him, miming he should use it on his chafed skin.

A cautious sniff told him the salve within would do him no harm and possibly even some good; there was lavender there, and chamomile, and he tilted his head to spread some on his neck. It burned at the touch, but then it soothed. He applied more of the balm to his wrists and ankles. He wouldn’t be able to reach the weal across his back… he could trust Kovalia, he knew that now, but knowing it and feeling safe with her were two different things. Still, he passed the pot to her.

‘Would you help me, please? I cannot reach.’

Her fingers were gently careful as she spread the salve over his back and sides until she had coated the chafed areas and he found the burning of his skin ease off. She passed him back the pot and walked away, giving him privacy to tend to the damage on the front of his body.

Busy with the balm, he only realised what Kovalia was doing when he smelled the wine as she poured it. But beneath the heady richness of the wine, he could taste a pollutant in its aroma and his gorge rose at it; the same drug that had knocked him out was in Kovalia’s glass and she was about to drink…

‘Do not, Kovalia, don’t!’ 

He got to her just in time to knock the glass out of her hands. The drugged wine arced through the air, splattered the walls, soaked into the dark rug where the empty glass now rolled, unbroken.

‘The wine was drugged, that is how they caught me, Glorfindel found a bottle in his saddle bags…’ He pointed at the glass, the decanter, the red stain. ‘…and we all drank it, which means my friends, too! Are there any others here, Kovalia, elves like me? Where are they, do you know?’

Kovalia looked at him, stunned, and asked a couple of brief questions; she had to be asking what was going on, why he had done it.

Lindir caught her hands, knowing to do so would capture her attention.

‘Don’t,’ he repeated, and bent to pick up the glass, swirling it, drawing her attention to the smear left by the drug.

Again, Kovalia asked a question, lifting the decanter to sniff at its neck. She frowned, as if she could tell there was something amiss. Just to be sure, he took the decanter away from her, repeating ‘do not,’ and leading her away.

It was then that he saw the bedding that had been covering him lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, and realised that although he hadn’t given it a thought, he was unclothed in front of Kovalia. It seemed she realised at the same moment, for her hand flew to her mouth and she fled through the door near the sideboard and shut it tight behind her.


	7. Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir hears a voice he recognises...

The room was full of the smell of drugged wine, lavender and chamomile balm, blood and pheromones, and from this last, Lindir gathered that perhaps the sight of his naked body hadn’t been entirely unpleasant to Kovalia… he waited, listening. From the room into which she had retreated all was silence for a few moments; he assumed her to be composing herself. He hoped he was right, that she hadn’t been shocked or afraid; she had been kind and the last thing he wanted was to frighten her.

There were noises now, sounds as if she were rummaging through drawers or a chest, the rustle of fabrics… as his hearing focussed, he became aware of sounds outside the room, too, along the corridor some way… nothing distinct, just echoes.

Lindir forgot about the distant noises when the door opened and Kovalia emerged from the room with some clothing folded over her arm. She headed towards him a little awkwardly, keeping her eyes averted and holding out the clothes in his general direction. It made him smile, and almost without thinking he reached out to tilt her chin so that she knew it was all right to look at him.

‘Thank you, Kovalia.’

He released her and took the clothes, saw her turn away and her eyes fix on the bed, at a stain in the centre of the white silk sheets, a stripe of blood. Lindir swallowed against revulsion at the reminder of his suffering even as Kovalia went to the window and threw it open. Her breath heaved like dry sobs.

Lindir stared at the bed for a moment, trying to make himself believe that the Lindir who had been so abused was not the same as the Lindir who was here now, with clothes, a knife, a friend… admittedly, a friend who couldn’t understand a word he said, but still…

There was something, no longer on the edge of his hearing – the sounds he had thought he heard earlier were back, louder, but still faint. They seemed to be coming from beyond the door next to the headboard, and he thought he heard Briot’s voice… it seemed a reasonable assumption, given the drugged wine, that Kovalia was in danger and so he hurried to join her, touching her shoulder gently as he spoke her name quietly.

Lindir put a finger to his lips and nodded towards the door beyond which he’d heard the voices. They became louder, and he panicked, feeling the need to hide suddenly. He dropped the clothes on the floor between the bed and the window and pulled Kovalia away and onto the bed, gathering the covers to spread over them both and dousing the lamp.

Kovalia stiffened, and he knew she had heard the voices, too. They grew louder, Briot’s and the deferential voice from earlier – Kovalia’s maid.  
Of course, Kovalia had the advantage; she knew what was being said, which might account for the fact that she suddenly moved to spread herself on top of him. Lindir stiffened for a moment, but then heard the click of the door opening and made himself lie still.

Kovalia’s heart hammered so that he could feel it through the fabric of her ugly white shift, he could feel her breath against his throat, reminding him of Briot…

But he wasn’t afraid. Not of Kovalia.

The door opened and the maid called out something; Kovalia chose to answer by mumbling indistinctly and tangling herself more tightly against him. The door was pulled to, and the voices had a hushed discussion, during which Kovalia jumped, as if she’d heard something to anger her.  
Finally the door was shut tightly again, the voices and footsteps faded, vanished. Presently, Kovalia disengaged and retreated across to the far side of the bed. The lack of contact suddenly made Lindir feel empty, cold.

Kovalia was asking him something, looking into his eyes as if she could see as clearly as he, and her expression, her tone was apologetic, and an underlying sense of regret made him touch his fingers to her lips. Her skin was soft, and he shivered at the memory of her lying over him and the loss of her moving away, and for whatever reason, she opened her arms and he moved his body towards her, allowing her to hold him as he shuddered; it was as if, with the sound of Briot’s voice outside receding, with Kovalia’s concern, he could believe that the ordeal was over, that he could perhaps begin to heal.

She held him tenderly, her hands comforting on his back, and something unexpectedly wonderful blossomed in him and he leaned across to lie over her, his lips finding hers in a kiss; he had only meant it to be a light gesture, but she rose towards him and he found his senses filling with the taste and want and need from her, and his tongue found its way into her mouth as his body responded to her gentle warmth. His hands rose to cup and cradle her head, and the kiss ended leaving him longing for more, wanting her, and a very small part of him was aware that however else he might be blighted in future as a result of Briot’s attack, he would still find joy in the act of love.

He smiled down at the woman beneath him. 

‘Kovalia?’ he asked, and there was a world of questions in the way he spoke her name, and she smiled, and welcomed him, and everything was suddenly better.

*

Afterwards, Kovalia fell asleep snuggled into him, and the simple comfort he felt from having this human woman trust him enough to be unconscious in front of him filled him with awe. And to think that, a few months ago, he could barely tell male and female human apart, except for their clothing, and had summarily dismissed them all as humankind, brief, noisy, shallow… he must remember, when he next saw Elrond, to tell him that.

For now Lindir really believed he would see Elrond again, he would find his friends – and that was new, too, that he felt he had friends – and somehow he would get home. And when he did, once he was away from here and this little land had made its treaty with Gondor, he would try to learn the language and he would come back and find Kovalia again.

Except as soon as he shaped the thought, he realised that for all he had not been irreparably damaged, still the thought of coming back, of finding, instead of Kovalia, Briot, filled him with dread...

Kovalia muttered something in her sleep, something gentle and warm, and she snuggled even closer against him. His arms enfolded her, cradled her, and yet it was he felt safe.

Perhaps he would find a way.

He began to hum softly, composing a theme for Kovalia; a soft, lyrical tune. He imagined a harmony, built on the melody… Kovalia stirred, and he hushed, but she was too deeply relaxed to do more than snuggle.

Lindir wasn’t quite sure how long they lay like that, holding and held, but presently he heard something, the softest of sounds, and not one he could determine. He thought it might be from the adjoining room, it could have been in the corridor far away; it may even have been from outside the building, but whatever it was, Lindir came alert in an instant.

He stroked Kovalia’s shoulder, looking into her face so that he was aware the instant her eyes opened, and as she lifted her head, he placed his fingers on her lips, as much to sear the memory of her soft skin into his mind as to warn her to silence. Tipping his head towards the window, he slid away from her and while she retrieved her plain white garment (he had been glad to peel it off her, to be close to all her soft skin) he dressed in the leggings she’d found for him earlier.

There was a noise again, and he was certain it came from the corridor. He stared at the door, trying to focus as Kovalia reached for the knife on the bedside table, holding it out to him hilts first as she pointed to the room to which she’d fled earlier. Yes; better get out of sight, and then if Briot came back, he would have the advantage of surprise.

Snatching up the tunic on his way, he retreated to the room, leaving the door fractionally open and hurriedly finished dressing. A glance through the crack of the door showed Kovalia covering herself in bedding and feigning sleep; even pretending she looked vulnerable, at risk, and he wished he had stayed at her side. But he was here now, and all he could do was wait.

The door to the corridor outside opened with a click.


	8. Rescue Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel leads a rescue party...

‘The boy, he is back,’ Torre said, looking out of the window into the night. 

Glorfindel turned his head to the door as it opened to admit the urchin. Elladan and Elrohir, who had been amusing themselves with a game of knucklebones at the table, hastily gathered up the pieces and put them away, ready for whatever came next.

Erestor had been writing in a notebook and now returned it to his pocket as the little lad dashed in. There seemed to be no sense of anxiety about him; he had simply run into the house because he was a little boy, and running was fun. He greeted his aunt and uncle in his light, singsong voice, and squashed in at the table between the twins, accepting food from Carli and chattering as he ate. Torre questioned and then translated.

‘Boy says the town is much life in it today. Natal day of our Lady who Leads on the morrow, blessings on her forever. Big feast at palace, lots of pickings, no-one has eyes for boy except to send on errands: Get my lady’s maid, send her to Briot. Go to the third floor, speak to the dame of the washroom, see what she needs… go down to the stables, where the farrier has been working on a special thing and bring it back to the armoury… Boy has been busy.’

‘Indeed,’ Erestor put in, ‘your nephew has been most industrious…’

‘And… he saw elsh.’

‘What?’

‘In palace. He went to the dame of the washroom, and she sent him on an errand, and he saw the elsh taken up the stairs…’

‘He saw Lindir? Was he all right?’ 

Torre spoke to Boy, and Boy shrugged, as only a small boy can, his shoulders rising to the level of his ears before he answered.

‘Boy cannot say. Boy does not know what is all right and what is not for elsh. He was brought in the arms of… he was carried up the stairs to Briot’s part of the palace.’

Erestor ducked his head, dread rising. Lindir, carried in, taken to Briot?

‘Where is the palace?’ Glorfindel demanded. ‘How far is it, how do we get in?’

‘Peace, good elfsh. All in time. Boy has not done… it is, as I told, tomorrow the natal day. But the night before it… it is known, our Lady who Leads, she had a marriage, but her man died. And she alone since. There is a tale told, a story…’

Torre lowered his voice, even though his wife and nephew had no Westron.

‘The natal day is when, as well, important things at council are done. Past years, when Briot wanted to win the vote, he would do things. Change time, have big feast before… one year, put a man in her room… Lady who Lead sleeps alone all year, except the night before her natal…’

‘What is he suggesting?’ Glorfindel asked. ‘That Lindir is a plaything for the woman, not the man? Perhaps that would be less harmful to him, if so, but still…’

‘I am unsure,’ Erestor replied. ‘I remember overhearing the Briotani – they were to take the twins. And the other stories we had of this Briot…’

‘They find him wives, our friend here said.’ Glorfindel sighed. ‘One for him, one for his sister…’

‘He’ll just have to share then,’ Erestor whispered. ‘That’s what I heard them say…’

The twins jumped to their feet.

‘How far is the palace?’

‘How will we get in?’

‘Patience… if we simply dash off, we will be of no use to Lindir!’ Erestor said, and turned to Torre, reverting to Westron. ‘We are most grateful, Torre. But now we are very worried about our friend!’

‘You would do better to wait for the moon; it is soon, yet, to go, and not far.’

‘But if we delay, our friend may suffer! And what will happen to him, after Briot is done with him? Will he be released?’

‘Briot is not one to wait his pleasures. If your friend is to suffer, it will be already in his past.’ Torre sucked at his teeth. ‘Still, I will help with horses, Boy will show the way. But not to wait on you.’

‘Thank you. If he will take us to the palace, that will be enough. How can we repay you?’

Torre’s face split into a grin. ‘See that our Lady signs our heads over to the High King. And when you get away from palace – do not stop here on your way back!’

*  
They retrieved their weapons and strapped them back on, the twins helping Torre with the horses. Erestor thanked Carli in Westron, knowing she wouldn’t understand but unwilling to slip into the local dialect at this late hour.

‘Horses are ready,’ Elrohir called, and they mounted up, Erestor taking charge of Lindir’s horse.

‘Would Boy like to ride?’ he suggested, but Torre shook his head.

‘A boy running in the streets at night, nobody sees. A boy on a big, fine horse led by a handsome elsh, everyone watches.’

‘Good point. And thank you once more, Torre. Boy? Lead on!’

Boy, of course, had no Westron, but he understood Erestor’s gesture, and dashed off into the darkness, the elves following.

He led them the long way round, Glorfindel was sure, tracking by the stars. Through the back streets, the hooves of the horses muffled by the earth underfoot, out into the scrubland behind the town, round in a long arc until finally, through a gap between two narrow rows of houses, he caught a glimpse of an open square.

‘The market place,’ Erestor muttered, looking in the same direction. ‘We must be near now.’

Around a corner, and there was an arched entrance to a large building, finer and of better construction than any of the surrounding houses. The boy pointed, bowed, and ran off.

‘This is it; we’re on our own,’ Erestor said.

‘Better than having a small child to worry about.’ Glorfindel exhaled slowly, looking around, getting his bearings. ‘Someone must stay with the horses; the shadows beneath the houses back there are good and deep.’

‘I had better be the one,’ Erestor said.

‘But what if we need a translator?’ Glorfindel pointed out.

‘But what if you need a warrior? Go, find Lindir, save him. You are Glorfindel, none can withstand you. I will hold the horses and wait. I am good at waiting.’

‘You’re wasting time!’ Elladan said.

‘Follow us when you’ve made your mind up who holds the horses,’ Elrohir added, and the twins flitted into the shadow of the arch.

‘Damn nuisances!’ Glorfindel muttered, making Erestor smile. ‘I’ll give the owl cry when we’re near the arch.’

He hurried after the twins, finding them in the shadows of the courtyard beyond looking at the building.

Many of the rooms appeared to be in darkness, or to have drawn curtains and a soft glow suggesting lamplight. The larger windows on the ground floors were dark, blank expanses of emptiness.

Elladan moved from shadow to shade to stand in the darkness near one of the main windows and look in. Elrohir joined him, while Glorfindel slipped through the night to investigate a smaller window. He beckoned the twins over.

‘Banqueting hall,’ Elrohir said.

‘Hallway,’ Glorfindel reported. ‘Follow me.’

He led the way around the building, the three checking in the windows as they went.

‘It’s all quiet on the ground floor,’ Elladan said.

Glorfindel raised a hand, listening intently. ‘But not on the upper floors…’

From somewhere far above, on the very edge of even elven hearing, came a soft, melodic humming.

‘That’s Lindir’s voice!’ Elrohir said.

‘I believe so.’ Glorfindel craned his neck upwards and pointed. ‘There! An open window!’

They slid through the shadows to beneath the window, following the wisps of notes… there was a balcony and an open casement, its curtains drawn wide and fluttering at the opening.

The humming subsided, stopped.

‘We’ll take the window,’ Elladan said.

‘Door,’ Glorfindel said.

‘We’ll wait outside until we see you arrive,’ Elrohir told him.

They separated.

A flight of steps down led Glorfindel to one of the servants’ entrances where he picked the lock – a skill acquired back in the First Age and one which he had never forgotten. He eased inside and began to work his way through the palace, heading up the back stairs and making for the room with the open window along the dimly lit corridors.

The entire palace seemed asleep. His hearing picked up snores, relaxed breathing, the creak of bedsprings. He found what he thought was the right corridor and began cautiously opening doors, his acute vision piercing the darkness.

Closed curtains. Not this room… but it was somewhere near…

Two doors further, and he found the room. Opening the door fractionally to allow the pale light from the corridor to fall inside and signal the twins that he was in position, he took a moment to breathe and to draw his slim belt knife before inserting himself inside the chamber, closing the door softly behind him.

A figure in the bed, the top of the head showing, the curve of an ear revealing it to be a human. He was there in an instant, the knife blade going to the human’s throat.

‘I hope you understand Westron, but if you do not, then I will kill you anyway if you do not tell me what you have done with Lindir? Where is he?’

The figure in the bed stirred, and Glorfindel saw darkness at the window; the twins sliding into the room. Elladan went to the outer door, Elrohir headed for a second doorway visible in the corner.

The human said something that included the name Lindir, and Glorfindel flinched, involuntarily, the knife pressing harder; it was a female voice. In his haste, he had not thought…

‘My friends? Is it you?’ 

Lindir’s voice. Glorfindel could not remember when last he had been so pleased to hear a voice as he was now.

‘Yes, Glorfindel, Elladan and I. Erestor is outside. Are you well?’

‘I am… I am here,’ Lindir’s voice said as he opened the door and came out. Elrohir grabbed him.

‘We were worried… were you hurt? Were you…? What happened?’

‘I was captured. It was… unpleasant, but… Glorfindel! What do you think you are doing?’

Lindir pushed free of Elrohir’s grasp and hurried over, gesturing wildly. ‘Release her, Glorfindel, you will frighten her! Of all the…’

He sat on the bed and gathered the woman in his arms.

‘She is trembling, she is frightened… you had better not have cut her, Glorfindel!’ 

Glorfindel shook his head, bemused as Lindir tilted the human’s head, examining her throat.

‘I didn’t know it was a she… Lindir, we thought you were captive here!’

Lindir ignored him, listening to the woman, intent on her welfare.

‘Quiet!’ Elladan whispered from the door. ‘We’d best go.’

Lindir nodded and turned his full attention on the woman.

‘Thank you, Kovalia,’ he said, and drew the woman close to kiss her. ‘My friend.’

Glorfindel raised his eyes in disbelief and the twins grinned; the woman said something as Lindir released her, something that caused him to pick up a piece of fruit from the table. From the window, Elladan beckoned, and Lindir followed him, slipping over the window with a last glance at the woman.

‘And to think we were worried about you!’ Elladan said.

‘We thought all manner of dreadful things had happened to you…’

‘Some did,’ Lindir said shortly, dropping from the balcony to the window ledge beneath and down to the ground. ‘But Kovalia helped me.’

‘We can talk later,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Come on. Erestor’s waiting.’

They crossed to the cover of the arch and Glorfindel gave the signal owl call, leading the way across the street into the shadows where Erestor stood. He led the horses out with relief in his eyes, nodding to Lindir.

‘I am glad to see you again; I have worried about you.’

‘Thank you. I am glad to be back amongst friends.’

‘We should hasten,’ Glorfindel said, swinging up onto the back of his horse.

It was only as Lindir settled in his saddle and a jolt of pain shot through him that he remembered his injury. He gasped, trying to muffle the sound, but not before Glorfindel and Erestor heard.

Erestor climbed into his own saddle and moved his horse alongside Lindir’s, Glorfindel coming to flank him on the other side.

‘If you can’t ride, we can walk. We know the way through the back streets; there’s a place we can camp further out.’

‘I’ll be all right.’

‘An hour’s ride, that’s all, Lindir.’

‘I can ride for an hour. It was just the shock.’

Glorfindel nodded. ‘If it gets too bad, we can stop. Otherwise, let’s move out.’

He led them slowly, steadily through the streets, roughly following the outer edge of the town rather than straying too close to the centre. After a few minutes, he nodded towards a side street ahead.

‘There’s Boy.’

‘Who?’ Lindir asked, glad of anything to take his mind of the pain and its associated memories.

‘A friend. His uncle and aunt sheltered us.’

Boy stepped out and bowed to them. He held up his hand, thumb tucked in, showing four fingers. A nod towards Lindir, and he made a show of extending the thumb and counting off his entire hand.

‘Yes; there were four of us and now there are five.’ Glorfindel nodded, and fished a coin out of his pocket, flipping it towards Boy with a grin. The child ran off into the shadows. ‘Come on.’


	9. Questions, Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which events start to catch up with Lindir

It was a very long hour to Lindir’s mind. While he appreciated the silent companionship of his friends, there was a part of him that felt ashamed, because he knew why they were not talking. They knew – or at least, Glorfindel and Erestor knew – what had happened and were showing their support by riding close and protecting him from having to speak.

They made camp outside the town boundaries, well away from the road and amongst a cluster of rocky boulders that provided some cover; while it would have been possible to press on to the inn at the foot of the hills, Glorfindel was loathe to take the chance of running into unfriendly individuals, and it had quickly become obvious to his observant eyes that Lindir had already taken about as much as he could bear already.

‘I will stand first watch with Elladan,’ Erestor announced when they reined in. ‘Elrohir, will you see to the horses?’

No-one watched as Lindir dismounted – they even managed to make it seem natural, normal – each busy at his task, that was all. And as it had generally been Lindir’s job to lay out the bedrolls, he prepared to do so now, spreading them out once Elrohir had removed them from the packs.

‘I’ll do that,’ Elladan offered. ‘We’ve been resting all day. You rest.’

Glorfindel already had a fire built and was preparing food. Lindir was left with no task, no job to distract him from the memories and recollections that suddenly crowded in on him. The huge sky above with its glittering tears of stars, the wide landscape… he felt it was all crowding in upon him…

Too uncomfortable to sit on the hard ground, he knelt instead, knees and heels slightly apart and his hands resting on his knees. Glorfindel looked at him across the fire. He paused, his eyes measuring and Lindir flushed, ashamed again.

‘Talk, Lindir. Say something, anything. It helps. It doesn’t matter what you say. Just… something. It reminds you you’re alive.’

‘I remember…’ the minstrel began. ‘I remember, the dark days before the ring went to Mount Doom, you gathered us in the Hall of Fire and talked to us. We all attended, except Elrond and his children…’

‘I know the talk you mean.’

‘It…. I think it helped.’

‘Good. That is, not good that you needed to draw on the knowledge, but…’

‘And you were right, I do, I did feel ashamed. I do feel… could I not have, somehow…?’

Glorfindel wanted to say they felt the same, also, that they should have stopped it, should have taken better care of Lindir, that it was his fault for giving them drugged wine, Erestor thought it was his fault for being kidnapped with him and then released. But he knew that wouldn’t help. Lindir would only reimagine whatever Glorfindel said and believe himself to blame for his friends’ guilt also, only adding to his own burden.

‘The only one to blame was the one who harmed you,’ Glorfindel said. ‘He decided to do it. He chose to do it. You had no choice.’

‘I didn’t fight. I remembered, I’d be more hurt. And I didn’t… I didn’t say anything. I took myself away from it. He…’ Lindir swallowed, remembering the tightness of the leather strap around his throat. ‘I had a leather collar on my neck to restrain me…’

Glorfindel hissed in a breath of disgust.

‘…and I knew if I pulled against it, I would black out. So that is what I did. When he was prodding and prying, I… I took myself away.’

‘Then that was very brave of you, Lindir. And very clever; it disempowered him.’

‘It still happened, though. But at least I did not have to know what happened. I did not have to live it. I remember what you said – we are elves, we are stronger than we think.’

‘There is a reason why it was I gave the lecture. Have you never thought?’

‘I… I assumed – many in the hall that night thought it was simply that you were Elrond’s seneschal, it was your duty as part of our security to do so…’

‘No. It was because… some parts of the First Age were very dark indeed.’ Glorfindel looked down, suddenly paying all his attention to the bread he was slicing. ‘I spoke from experience.’

‘Then, I really thank you.’

Glorfindel looked up again, shook his head.

‘And I you. Oddly, knowing my… experiences have helped you makes what I endured… I feel better, knowing I have helped, it brings something positive from the darkness. But…’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘It is not common knowledge. The sense of shame I spoke of…’

‘It does not pass, then?’

‘It passes. But we have to remember it may try to return. We have to keep rejecting the pain. And… knowing someone else knows… it reawakens it. I do not mean you, Lindir, since you know this thing also and that is… somehow supportive.’

‘But those who do not know, who do not need to. I saw… I was grateful to you and Erestor, riding with me, but knowing you had realised… and not knowing what the twins know…’

 

‘Disregard them. And Erestor is infinitely discreet. I think not even Erestor knows what Erestor knows, sometimes. You will need this.’ Glorfindel threw something through the air over the fire towards him, and Lindir caught it; a small pouch, the sort healers carried. 

‘Everything you need is there. If asked, you could also use it on the injuries from your bonds and say that is why you have it.’

‘Thank you.’

Glorfindel glanced over his shoulder. ‘I think Erestor has been discreetly keeping the twins busy while we talk. Come. Sit with me… well, if you can sit.’

He said it with a small, hopeful-helpful smile, and Lindir could not help but smile in reply as he joined the seneschal.

‘May I ask?’

‘Anything. Really, ask.’

‘How long does the immediate pain last?’

‘It depends how badly, how… determined the attack. From a few days to longer. If it is longer than a week with no ease, remember, I have healing talents. But I know, this is an injury you would rather care for on your own.’

Erestor joined them, flanking Lindir.

‘What supplies did the good Carli put up for us? Boy’s aunt and uncle, Lindir, they took us in and kept us off the streets while Boy found out where you were being held… we owe them much…’

‘We have bread and indeterminate meat, cheese which I guess is goat’s cheese because I saw no milch cow… although I saw chickens, so now I am worried…’

‘Well, it is food.’

‘Have we water? I have great thirst…’

‘Lindir, why did you not say?’ Erestor was contrite. ‘We have plenty. Here. Drink your fill.’

When they had all eaten and drunk, and there was little left but crumbs, Lindir drew out the half fruit he had brought from Kovalia’s room.

‘I do not know why, but Kovalia – the woman who helped me – said something as we were leaving to make me think she wanted me to bring it away. It is a mesri fruit, I think. She cut a slice in two and shared it with me, and that was when I began to feel I had a friend.’ He passed out the slices amongst them. ‘And this way, we have all eaten of the same fruit and so, Glorfindel, if you should meet her again, you will know better than to put a knife to her throat…’

‘I have already explained,’ the seneschal said. ‘And apologised! What more do you expect? And what would you expect, I see a human who I thought had you captive…’

‘Eat,’ Lindir said. ‘And it is done and forgiven and forgotten.’

*  
But it was not forgotten, not all of it.

As they settled for the remainder of the night, Lindir found he needed to be able to see where everyone was before he could be easy, and then he could not find his way into reverie.

Erestor and Elrohir walked the perimeter of the camp, their watchfulness a comfort, but still, the shadows were dark. Elladan stared at the stars, oblivious as his mind walked in meditation.

Lindir felt very cold and in spite of the medical pack from Glorfindel he felt very sore, the pain reminding him of the attack, and while he tried to focus on the positives – Kovalia’s friendship and her gentle kindness – his mind could not settle on it and he found to his surprise and embarrassment that he was crying.

*  
Glorfindel listened to Lindir’s sorrow in mute sympathy. He’d wondered at how well Lindir had seemed to be coping and had expected something like this… probably because this was the first time he’d been still, the first time he’d felt safe enough and alone enough to let himself feel.

Oh. Not good. This was too much for him to bear. He knew this hollow, echoing despair, it was rage and it was grief and it was fear and helplessness and above all it was confusion. It was over, done, why could one not move on, why could one not forget?

There was no answer. If there had been, Glorfindel himself would have found it a very long time ago.

As the sky was beginning to lose darkness at the eastern edges of the horizon, he picked up his bedroll and walked around the fire to where Lindir was now trying to hide his face.

‘In battle, often two warriors will stand back-to-back to fight. They know they can depend on each other, they know it is the best way to protect themselves. I am going to lie down, in my bedding, with my back to you. If you put your back to mine, well, you know you will be safe and protected, back to back, we are both safe from that which we both fear.’ Glorfindel spread out his bedding and pulled up his blanket. ‘If you choose not to, well, it is your choice, mellon-nin.’

A few moments later, Glorfindel felt Lindir turn to lie facing the fire and with his back to the seneschal. He was no longer crying, and soon the pattern of his breathing eased and relaxed.

Glorfindel did not sleep; Lindir’s emotion had woken up his own demons. In some ways it didn’t matter that his own experience had been quite literally ages ago, that he had since died and spent time in the Halls of Mandos and been returned again in a new time, his memories had not gone. Still, at least his pain was giving some comfort to Lindir; perhaps that was how it would be, they would pass this pain back and forth between them until finally it was something they could bear, at last.

Elrohir took over the watch from Elladan, the sky lightened and finally Glorfindel felt relaxed enough to reverie for an hour or so. It wasn’t long, but it was enough, and when he came back to full wakefulness, Lindir had risen, but had pushed his bedroll close to Glorfindel’s back in his place. The thought made him smile as he stirred himself.

‘Glorfindel?’ Elrohir approached, not too close, trying to appear nonchalant. ‘I need to ask you something.’

‘Let me at least get up and stretch my legs, penneth! Then you can ask all you want…’

But when he returned from stretching his legs, it was Elladan who was waiting, trying to look casual, leaning against a rocky outcrop.

‘You and Elrohir are twins, yes, but that does not make you interchangeable in my eyes. So is this a different thing to the thing your brother would ask, or is it the same thing?’

Elladan had the grace to look slightly shamefaced.

‘No, it’s the thing I would ask after you have answered Elrohir’s question… we were hoping to get to the point gently, so to speak…’

‘Well, it looks like you’re going to have to wait for him to finish with the horses, or whatever he’s doing… or ask both questions… or ask your own without him. But hurry up, I want to break my fast.’

‘Very well. So, my part in the question is… and what are we going to do about it?’

‘Good question.’ Glorfindel nodded. ‘I would say we’re going to think about it over breakfast.’

The ebony-haired elf gave a rueful half-smile. ‘Well, it seems I must ask Elrohir’s question for him, too…’

‘Only if you feel you must, penneth…’

‘Has Lindir been… hurt? Because, he hasn’t said much, and he’s trying to be just the same as ever, but too hard, somehow. And we don’t want to say the wrong thing…’

‘Then don’t say anything.’ Glorfindel shrugged. ‘But my answer holds; I’ll think about it over breakfast.’


	10. The Result of the Vote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the elves return to High Inn to await the result of the vote...

By folding his bedroll beneath him, Lindir was able to sit through breakfast without too much physical discomfort. Aware of the surreptitious scrutiny of four pairs of eyes on him throughout the meal, however, he felt mentally and emotionally very uncomfortable indeed. They were trying not to stare, he knew that, and it was only because they were his friends, that they cared about him, that they were looking at him in the first place. 

But he didn’t think he could carry on for much longer like this.

Finally, steeling himself, he took a breath and began to talk, keeping his eyes lowered.

‘My friends, I am grateful to you for your rescue. I am grateful that you have talked to me, and that you have known when not to talk to me. But it is awkward, now, and I do not know how to make it easier.’

He looked up suddenly, holding the twins’ attention.

‘Elladan, Elrohir, I know you are worried and that instead of asking me what happened, you will ask Erestor or Glorfindel, to spare my feelings. But being talked about is almost as bad as being talked to, did you know that?’

Elrohir shook his head. ‘I hadn’t realised. And we are worried about you – we don’t even know what hap…’

‘I was drugged and woke up alone and bound and a man was touching my hair with dirty hands and made me feel unclean. I was dragged into a house and brought before another man who I understood to be Briot. Then they took me away and stripped me. Women washed me, treating me like I was laundry, not even like I was a person, and then I was harnessed and shackled and left chained naked on a bed until Briot came…’ Lindir paused and stared at Elladan. ‘Are you sure you want me to continue?’

Elladan flushed and ducked his head away, hunching a shoulder awkwardly. But it was Erestor who spoke, himself eyeing the twins.

‘I would ask for you to continue, Lindir, if you can. You see, I was kidnapped too, and released, for the kidnappers made a mistake. They had been told to take ‘the same-looking ones’ – in other words, the twins. Yes, there is an irony there, the humans who cannot tell elves apart… my point is that what happened to you, mellon-nin, is what would have happened to Elladan and Elrohir. Whether or not they wish to, I think they ought to know how much they owe you.’

‘It was… unpleasant. He pulled my hair, my chains, he… his hands… his breath, it was… terrifying, knowing and not knowing and… I tried to take myself away, thinking of other things and he was poking and prodding and mauling me and pushing me how he wanted me, and he was talking and I couldn’t… the collar was tight and I knew if I pulled against it enough… I was able to make myself lose consciousness before he could… before the worst of it.’

Elrohir shook his head. ‘Lindir… how can you talk so calmly about it?’

‘I really do not know. Perhaps because words are what I do. Perhaps Kovalia’s compassion had something to do with it. When I came to, instead of being chained on Briot’s bed, I was under the covers in another chamber.’ He gave a shrug and picked at the bread he’d been trying to eat. ‘The worst is told.’

‘But not all,’ Erestor said. ‘Lindir, they wanted the twins – one each, I heard the man say. Your Kovalia – do you know who she is?’

‘She is Kovalia. I think she is of high status, she had a maidservant who spoke to her freely and yet with respect, and Kovalia spoke with authority in her voice. The room was well-appointed and the bedding of good quality. She did not seem surprised to find her bed occupied, but when she saw my chains, she was clearly startled.’

‘Because of your chains, or your ears?’ Glorfindel asked.

‘Maybe both. She gave me food and found a knife, handing it to me and showing me her back as if offering herself as a target.’

‘She let you go. And then?’

‘Found me salve for where the leather straps had cut me. Went to drink a glass of wine and I smelled the drug – the same that was in our wine. I stopped her drinking it. But who would have wished to drug her, and why?’

‘The same who drugged us,’ Erestor suggested. ‘Briot. We do not know the name of his sister, this Lady who Leads, but from my eavesdropping, the intention was twofold – to distract her from the vote to give allegiance to Gondor, and to discredit her in the eyes of the King’s representatives – if the story got out that she’d had a captive elf in her room, would it be likely that the King, with an elven wife, would want to ally with her? I think the intention was always to release you afterwards, Lindir, with enough having happened that you would protest and seek redress.’

‘You still can, you know,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Briot doesn’t have to get away with it.’ 

Lindir smiled sadly. ‘But, mellon-nin, if I protest Briot’s treatment of me, that will let him see that he harmed me. I would not have him know. And, if he has done this simply to thwart his sister’s plans, then I will not aid him in that. Kovalia… you do not know how kind she was…’

‘Yes, you’ve said – food and a knife and a salve and stuff, but, Lindir!’ Elladan protested. 

Something in Elladan’s tone nettled him, and Lindir found himself speaking up in Kovalia’s defence.

‘She saw… there was blood, so she knew what had been done to me. She was outraged – not that her plaything was come to her second-hand, before you say it – but because she saw I had been injured and it distressed her. But everything she did, from the moment she saw my chains, was to help and comfort me, and I am grateful that she eased my fëa with her gentleness after I had endured such harsh treatment elsewhere.’ He almost scowled at Elladan. ‘She showed me that, whatever else, my future was not hopeless and that not everything had been spoiled for me. And now, is there anything else you think you need to know about my captivity?’

There was a surprised silence following this; Lindir was not given to outbursts of this nature and it was this, as much as his choice of words, that demonstrated how deeply troubled he really was.

‘Are you still in pain?’ Elladan asked presently.

‘Yes, I am in much discomfort.’ Lindir sighed. ‘Forgive me, I had not realised how difficult this would be to talk about.’

‘No, don’t apologise. Really, I feel bad enough… to think it might have been me…’

‘You could have been lucky.’ Lindir shrugged and found a smile from somewhere. ‘You could have got Kovalia. Not that I think she would have looked twice at you, for she is a lady of great taste and refinement…’

‘Well, she looked very refined when you were kissing her goodbye,’ Glorfindel put in, relieved the mood had turned lighter. ‘If we’re done eating, we should be moving on. As I remember, if we stay on the road we have no choice but to pass through Low Village and its associated inn… I think it might be better if we head across country and meet up with the mountain path some way beyond. The terrain is a little awkward, though; we’d be better off on foot and leading the horses…’

‘Really?’ Lindir asked as everyone else dispersed.

‘No, not really, not at first. It was a bad idea to make you ride last night, but we were in a hurry to get you away. This morning, I think everyone’s going to be so busy with the vote in Main Town, they won’t be looking anywhere else. If we can get to High Village Inn before nightfall, the landlord was very helpful when we went back after we lost you, and we can lie up there for a day or two, send a message on ahead, perhaps.’

It took them most of the morning to pick their way through the hinterlands and skirt Low Village and when they came to the lower slopes of the mountains, Glorfindel was proved right; the way would have been very difficult on horseback. But by the time they’d stopped for an hour to rest the horses in the day’s heat, Erestor was looking anxiously up towards the summit of the pass.  
‘I do not think we have time to make the inn before nightfall, not on foot,’ he said softly, addressing himself to Glorfindel but with an apologetic glance at Lindir. ‘It is up to you, whether you wish to risk camping again?’

‘No, I think we should press on. We don’t know how to read the weather here, and if another sandstorm blows in while we’re on the mountain…’

‘Agreed. Well, whenever you are ready.’

Glorfindel held the bridle for Lindir to mount and spoke soothingly, apparently to the horse, but to Lindir it was an unobtrusive gesture of support and it gave him courage. The first few minutes in the saddle were uncomfortable, reminders of the event as much as painful in their own right, but he adapted, he endured. As Glorfindel had said, long ago in the hall of fire: ‘We are elves. We are stronger than we think.’

Even so, he was very glad when they reached the top of the pass and made their way to the sheltered plateau where High Village and its inn huddled against the hills and he was able to slide out of the saddle and stand on firm ground.

The stable boy dashed out to take their horses and attend to them, and the innkeeper came out and looked as if he wanted to disappear back into the inn again. He gazed in particular at Lindir and bowed low to them all.

‘Welcome back, masters elf! Gentle lords, will you have your same rooms again?’

‘We will have all your rooms,’ Glorfindel said. ‘We will pay, but so that if any Briotani should pass this way, you are full.’  
‘But… if they come, and see empty rooms, even paid-for rooms, they will be angry… And, gentle lords, it is the Natal Day of the Lady who Leads us; all the village will come to drink her health at my inn today and some may want to stay…’

‘We will hire your inn, all of its rooms, all of its stabling. If any of your friends from the village need them, then of the rooms we pay for they may, of course, have the use. We only wish to fill your inn so that there is no room for any Briotani who may cross the mountains,’ Glorfindel said.

‘Do my lords mean this? You would pay for rooms for the village to use?’

Glorfindel shrugged at Erestor. ‘We are on our way out of the fiefdoms. Perhaps now is not a bad time to admit you know the language.’

‘Perhaps. And yet it seems like a deceit, to have kept the truth so long.’ Erestor turned to the innkeeper. ‘We will talk better inside,’ he said, keeping to Westron for the moment.

*  
Once indoors, Glorfindel noticed how Lindir relaxed as soon as the door was closed. He kept back from the discussion between Erestor and the landlord, but noted that the language in use had moved now from Westron into the local dialect. The few villagers who were present looked on – and, indeed, listened in – with curiosity.

‘I have no idea what Erestor is saying!’ Glorfindel said. ‘And it is my own fault, for suggesting he speak in the local tongue!’

‘Could you interrupt long enough, do you think, to bespeak our rooms?’ Lindir asked.

But Erestor had heard him, and spoke the question to the innkeeper, who in turn beckoned a pot boy forward.

‘The same rooms as before, and the boy will bring food and beer presently,’ Erestor said. ‘I am currently explaining my new linguistic skills to our host… go and get settled, I will not be long. We should keep together as much as possible.’

Once safe in his room, Lindir cast himself face down on the bed with a sigh. Glorfindel followed him in, taking a seat by the door and the twins stood looking out of the window onto the dry, dusty village.

‘The vote will have been taken long since,’ Lindir said. ‘And the people of Main Town will know their fate. How long, do you think, before the news reaches here?’

Glorfindel shrugged.

‘It depends on whether it is good news or bad, and who is in the greatest hurry to spread it,’ he said. ‘In theory, it could have preceded us, if the vote were taken quickly and a rider sent out with the result immediately. But I do not think that is how things happen, here.   
We will stay until we know.’

‘And we had better be ready to leave in a hurry, if their Lady doesn’t carry the vote,’ Elladan added.

A few moments later, Erestor joined them.

‘Well, our friend the innkeeper is very pleased to see us and to see we have found our friend. He was not sure, at first, if we would have any grievance with him…’

‘But it is not his fault we didn’t listen to his warnings…’

‘I think he is used to being blamed for things that are not his fault. I have instructed that a message be carried to Ithilien with all haste informing them that we are on our way but will be staying here for a few days.’

‘A few days?’ Elladan protested.

‘Why would we want to do that?’ Elrohir added.

‘To give me chance to heal,’ Lindir said. ‘To learn the result of the vote and what the villagers think of it.’

‘We are out of immediate danger, and the landlord is eager to make amends for his perceived failings,’ Erestor said. ‘Once we have eaten and rested, we should join the company to hear what news from Main Town; word is expected to come before midnight.’

Word did, indeed, come. The expected messenger arrived a little after midnight, but the villagers at the inn were still busy celebrating their Lady who Leads’ Natal Day and so had not noticed the passing of time.

The innkeeper heard the news first, and repeated it loudly for all to hear who would.

‘The vote has gone through,’ Erestor translated. ‘The ratification of the treaty was agreed, with only three votes against and more than forty in favour. The draft was signed and has been horsed to Gondor…’

‘Horsed?’ Glorfindel queried.

‘That is the literal translation,’ Erestor said a little stiffly. ‘I was attempting to give a flavour of the dialect; a messenger on horseback has been dispatched… and all is done… Ah. Oh, this is interesting…’

‘We are sure it is, Erestor, but until you choose to share it with us…?’

‘Patience, Glorfindel… the Lady who Leads, she has passed an edict that the learning of Westron and of Elvish…’ Erestor paused to sigh. ‘…should be encouraged. And she herself has declared any with knowledge of such languages to present themselves to her as teachers.’

‘A job for you, Lindir, if you fancy it?’ Glorfindel grinned.

‘Indeed, if it were not for Briot…’ Lindir shuddered, and Erestor interrupted quickly.

‘It would not do; it would require one who knew both this mythical ‘elvish’ and the local dialect.’

‘A job for you, then, Erestor!’ Elladan suggested.

‘I already have a job, thank you! But I will explain to the messenger… and it might not hurt to mention this call for teachers in Ithilien and Gondor… it would be a good way to observe the populace as they prepare for the signing of the treaty. Still, we can rest easy tonight.’

Glorfindel rearranged the rooms so that he was next door to Lindir. ‘If you need anything, just knock on the wall,’ he said privately to him. ‘Or we could share, if you wanted.’

Lindir shook his head. ‘I am sure I’ll be fine. As Erestor said, we can rest easy tonight.’


	11. Stormbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While at the inn, another sandstorm hits...

The next day, a storm blew in, piling sand grains and howling gales against the shutters of the inn.

Lindir didn’t mind the storm; while it was raging and screaming outside, he could imagine it was howling his own rage and despair, and it helped as he entered the next stage of his recovery. For now the shock was over, the immediate physical pain receding, he was awash with lightning mood changes and great swoops of emotion, carrying him from relief he had survived to the blackest gloom when he remembered the prying, poking fingers and almost casual menace of Briot’s assault.

Glorfindel proved himself an unremitting, insistent friend.

When, during the remnants of the first night at the inn, Lindir had woken up clutching his throat and with the remains of a scream hanging heavy in the air, there had come a gentle knocking on the wall of the chamber, swiftly followed by a tapping at his door.

‘It is I, Glorfindel,’ his friend had said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I am sorry, I disturbed you! I am fine. Go back to bed.’

‘Oh, I shall presently. I have brought my bedroll with me and will lie against your door with my back to it, so that you know you are guarded. Or would you like me to come in and bear you company for a while?’

Lindir sighed and went to unlock the door.

‘Glorfindel, you have been so kind a friend. The last thing I want is to become an annoyance…’

‘Elladan is an annoyance. Elrohir is an annoyance. That potboy who stares as if he doesn’t know whether to worship us ‘elsh’ or run away, he is an annoyance.’ Glorfindel closed and secured the door behind him. ‘You are not. You are my friend, a fellow-survivor, if you will.’

He took a seat near the window, watching as Lindir sank onto the bed, his hands so tightly entwined that Glorfindel wondered whether the minstrel would be able to untangle them without help.

‘This is usual, Lindir,’ he said. ‘I will not say, normal, for these are not normal circumstances. It is your fëa’s way of purging you of the horror of the experience; while we sleep, we can be braver than when we are awake.’

‘I did not feel brave. In… in my dream, I did not lose consciousness. In the dream, he…’

Lindir fell silent, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. If ever he needed a comforting arm, a pat on his back, it was now. But Glorfindel held back with a sigh. It was also potentially the worse possible moment to touch his damaged friend, so he reached out with words instead.

‘Well, if you can consider the matter objectively for a moment… we are elves, we know everything – or we like to think we do – and any blank or gap in our knowledge is impossible for us to bear without trying to find out what we have missed. Your mind is simply trying to fill in the blanks.’

‘But I do not want to know!’ Lindir protested, although as soon as he said it, he began to wonder.

‘It happened, mellon-nin. I think, if I may say so, that your actions in losing consciousness will have hastened the end of your ordeal. He would not have stopped, no matter what, but I am sure it was less fun for him that you were not awake to hear his taunts, to appreciate some of the finer indignities.’

‘Glorfindel, I know that your own experiences will have been far worse than my own, and…’

‘No. No such thing, Lindir.’

‘But, mellon-nin… I… ran away from the reality…’

‘To refuse to give him power over you. To protect yourself. My own experience? Yes, it was very different. But you and I are very different. I am a warrior, used to violence of one form or another, taught almost to expect such treatment if captured by the enemy. You have been sheltered, unused to warfare. My attack took place in the long ago, yours, almost in the now.’ He shrugged. ‘Truly, it is not the same. But that does not make your suffering any the less.’

Lindir thought for a moment, then nodded, accepting.

‘Ultimately, we are both survivors,’ he said.

‘And we will continue surviving. More than that, we will live, and we will love.’

‘Have you, Glorfindel? Have you been able to love, since?’

The golden haired warrior nodded, eyes wary, preventing Lindir from asking further. 

‘I’m not going to pry, do not worry,’ Lindir said swiftly. ‘I simply thought… perhaps I have been lucky, to have Kovalia’s kindness so soon after… to find so quickly that I could still feel comfort from the physical act of love.’

‘I was in no such case – months from home and from the one I cared about. And I did worry it would be spoiled between us. But I decided I would not let that happen, and I had time to strengthen my resolve. It was not easy, but we weathered the storm together. May I ask, has it always been females for you, Lindir?’

‘Yes, until now. But not many. Yourself?’

‘I have always responded to the person, giving less attention to matters of gender. At the time, I was with an elleth of great beauty, but after we parted, I found I could look at no ellon without trepidation. So for a time, I was changed.’

‘I find I miss her, Glorfindel. I wish Kovalia were in my future and not my past. Is that… usual?’

‘That I cannot say,’ his friend replied. ‘I would be inclined to think it not connected with the attack. It may be that she is simply a nice woman who gave you comfort when you needed it.’

‘Yes. Not a sheep, nor a wolf, and not really a shepherd, but a shepherdess. If Kovalia really is the Lady who Leads, then the people will be safe in her care.’ He glanced at Glorfindel. ‘As I will be safe, for I have friends around me. Thank you for listening, Glorfindel.’

‘You know, Elladan and Elrohir have a door between their two rooms which they can leave open. I am sure, if I asked them, they would swap with you and I. But for tonight, I will spread my bed out where I can lie with my back against the door.’

‘No need. Spread it on the bed; I will be under the covers and face the window if you put your back to mine and face the door.’

‘Very well. And tomorrow we will see about swapping rooms with our twins.’

‘What will the landlord say, though?’

‘Who cares?’ Glorfindel shrugged. ‘We can say we didn’t like the view. But after all, we’re paying him enough.’

*

The storm hit early the next morning and kept everyone at the inn throughout the day; it was almost midnight before it began to abate. During the evening, to pass the time, some of the locals began to sing. After a few songs, Elladan and Elrohir, quickly picking up the tunes, began to join in the choruses, following with a song of Ithilien, which was not so far away that the melody was unfamiliar, even if the words were unknown. They were applauded and complimented, Erestor translating, and asked for more.

‘No, we don’t know any more songs except those of home, and Lindir would be better at those!’ Elladan protested. 

‘They are too unfamiliar, I think,’ Lindir said.

‘No, but you have by far the better voice! It’s a while since we heard you sing, why not?’

Elrohir nudged his brother in the ribs. ‘Perhaps that’s because Lindir has not much felt like singing,’ he said.

‘No, I think I could sing,’ Lindir said quickly, before Elladan could start apologising. ‘Our village friends seem to like the shape and sounds of our language, even if they do not understand it. But our twins are right; most of the songs we know are very different from those we have heard, and I am not sure what to give them. I have a thought for a new work, though, and I have been thinking of sharing it with you. It has no words yet, just a melody and harmonies, but I can sing my thoughts and perhaps it will help me see how to shape the verses…’

He began to hum the soft and lilting melody he had composed for Kovalia, and when he had laid down the background melody for the twins to hum along, he began the counterpart, singing his thoughts in Sindarin.

_‘As she rested against my chest, as she slept, I thought how trusting she was. She had freed me from restraint, handed me a knife and presented her vulnerability to me as a gift…_

_‘She made herself helpless to me as only the powerful can know. As only the compassionate can dare. Her simple need took away my shame, her dignity gave me back my self-respect…_

_‘Her generosity gave value to my suffering. And so that is why I think I am in love with Kovalia.’_

He repeated the last phrase again and stopped singing to find his friends staring at him as the room fell still for a heartbeat before the villagers shouted their approval, tapping their tankards on the table tops in their way of applauding the song.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked a gawping Elrohir, nearest him and generally the kindest of critics. ‘I thought it sounded well in Sindarin, and it is but my thoughts for the content, it is not shaped yet into proper words…’

‘You think you are in love with Kovalia?’ Elladan echoed while Elrohir continued gawping.

‘It is but a thought that came to me while I was singing…’

‘Well, it’s a lovely tune,’ Erestor said, turning back from where the innkeeper had been asking him something with a frown on his face. ‘But our host doesn’t understand why you are singing about a piece of fruit…’

‘What?’

‘Kovalia. It is a word he knows, it is fruit, very rare, very expensive, hard on the outside and soft and sweet within.’

‘But… it’s Kovalia, it is about her, that is the name she gave me…’ 

Linder felt bewildered suddenly, unreasonably. Had Kovalia done it deliberately, given him a false name? If so, then how much else had been false between them?

‘I expect it’s just a misunderstanding of the language,’ Erestor said kindly, seeing Lindir struggling. ‘It is not the sweetest of dialects, and the word order is arbitrary and the words themselves change with more frequency than does the weather here… it makes Quenya look simple, really, Lindir… I will tell him it is a song in honour of their Lady who Leads, and that you liken her qualities of strength to endure and kindness of heart.’

‘But, Erestor – if she is not Kovalia, how will I find her again?’

‘But, Lindir, if she is the Lady who Leads, what could be easier than to send her a message? And if she is not Kovalia, then she might be able to find her for you. I will be glad to help translate such a message if you wish to write one.’

‘True. Very true, Erestor, and my thanks. I will do so. I will wait until we get to Gondor, and I will compose a letter… but what if she doesn’t want to think of me, or if she is busy?’

‘Lindir, you’re putting too much thought into it,’ Glorfindel said. ‘And now isn’t the moment; I think they want you to sing it again.’


	12. Towards Ithilien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elves leave the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds behind and head back to familiar lands...

By the time the elves were ready to leave High Inn several days later, Lindir had, largely speaking, physically recovered from his ordeal. Emotionally, mentally, his progress was slower.

As Glorfindel had suggested, they swapped rooms with Elladan and Elrohir, and left the connecting door open between the two chambers. Even so, Lindir woke screaming in the early hours of the morning, and Glorfindel had spent the rest of the night in his bedroll on top of the bed, facing the door while Lindir lay looking towards the window until he finally relaxed enough to slip into an uneasy reverie.

‘You are such a good friend,’ Lindir said, and Glorfindel had shaken his head.

‘I had good friends around me, after,’ he replied. ‘I am only passing on their kindness.’

The rest of the stay had been better; true, Lindir had startled out of reverie more than once, but with the yell still in his throat and not escaping from it, and he began to hope that his mind would soon get bored with trying to relive the attack. Instead, he attempted to counteract the unpleasant memories with the happier recollections of Kovalia, her kindness, her loving embrace. After this, the nights passed more easily, and if he did jar himself awake out of reverie, then there were, at least, thoughts of Kovalia to console him.

He thought about her constantly now, when he was alone, when the others were talking. He told himself he was simply refining the song he had written for her, and that this was the real reason he was spending so much time thinking about the exact shade of her eyes, the precise texture of her soft skin, even though there wasn’t anywhere in the song for them to go. He told himself he was a musician, such concepts would show in the subtleties of harmony and tempo, but the truth was, he held on to the memory of her like a talisman, like a light in the dark.

Trying to be practical and looking to the future, too, he asked Erestor to give him some tuition on the local dialect in their quiet moments, and he studied hard, hoping to hear a word he might recognise here and there from speech with Kovalia, so that even when he pretended he was attempting to steer his thoughts away from her, they kept returning.

*

On the day they left High Inn, setting off after an early breakfast, they made it down to the little town of Foothills by early afternoon. 

They called in at the inn, intending to bait their horses and eat a swift meal, finding themselves remembered, and welcomed, and pressed for information about the vote, as if they had been there; the villagers of Foothills found it difficult to believe that so many ‘elsh’ would be in Main Town at the time of the vote, and not be invited in to the Council Chamber.

‘Perhaps we had better not tell them quite what happened,’ Glorfindel murmured, and Lindir managed to smile.

‘At least we can say that we were pleased to hear that the Council supported the notion,’ he said.

Their voluble grey-haired lady presented herself with much bobbing and nodding, and the twins shuffled apart to make room for her between themselves, grinning and shrugging.

‘I suppose she’s going to want to know how we got on,’ Elladan said. ‘Whether we became wives, at all.’

‘Perhaps we had better steer clear of the topic,’ Erestor said, shooting a look towards Lindir, practising his very basic knowledge of the dialect on the   
innkeeper at the counter. ‘Our friend is doing well, but it might be an inappropriate reminder.’

‘I’ll see how he’s getting on,’ Glorfindel suggested, pushing himself away from the table. ‘Make sure he isn’t talking himself into a corner.’

Elladan raised an eyebrow at the golden-haired warrior’s back.

‘If he doesn’t watch himself, our good friend here will be thinking those two are each other’s wives!’

‘Elladan!’ Erestor protested. ‘That remark was in very bad taste! Glorfindel is simply trying to be helpful; as seneschal of Imladris, he feels responsible for security and safety and he believes he has a duty of care towards Lindir now. If you hadn’t noticed, he blames himself for allowing Lindir and me to   
be kidnapped.’

‘I really meant nothing by it,’ Elladan said, spreading his hands in apology. ‘And the Valar know Lindir needs a friend after that…’

‘But if we’re going to be amongst our own folk soon, if we’re walking alongside the Men of Gondor…’ Elrohir said slowly, thinking it through. ‘Do you think someone should point out to Glorfindel that he looks possessive and not just protective, at times?’

‘By ‘someone’, I expect you mean me.’ Erestor sighed. ‘Very well; you do, perhaps, have a point…’ 

He dropped into Desert Winds dialect for a moment in answer to something the old woman said, and then asked her a question in return. Her answer was long, complicated, effusive, and punctuated by many hand gestures and smiles.

‘What did you ask?’ Elrohir raised an eyebrow at Erestor. ‘Her entire life story?’

‘I asked only if she knew the name of their Lady who Leads…’

‘And?’

‘Basically, no.’ 

The twins were still laughing when Glorfindel and Lindir got back to the table.

‘What did we miss?’ the seneschal wanted to know.

‘Erestor just had a five-minute conversation with Mistress Foothills here, and then said she said she didn’t know what he asked…’

‘It was not so simple; I merely didn’t wish to go through the entire tale twice! Lindir, I tried to ask if she could tell us the name of the Lady who Leads; the name is never used by ordinary folk, their Leader’s name is private to their family and closest circle of intimates and it is a great informality for any other to use it. The title is more respectful, and all wish to pay proper respect to her, whom they love so well.’

‘I see. So we still do not know for certain that she and my Kovalia are the same person.’ Lindir sighed. ‘Thank you for trying to find out.’

‘You can write from Gondor, if you wish. How did you get on with your Desert Winds dialect?’

‘Ai, I muddled up the numbers and almost ended up with one glass of wine and five loaves of bread… Glorfindel helped.’

‘I find it’s easier just to point and hold up the right number of fingers,’ Glorfindel said. ‘And talking loudly helps.’

‘No, it really doesn’t,’ Erestor said under his breath. ‘I have told you many times…’

‘Never mind. Eat your food, pour the lady a glass of wine, and then we can call for the horses and head for the border.’

*

Now as they rode, the landscape began to change from sere and brown to sprinkled with grey, tired green. It was a small change, but it was enough of one to make them feel they were really leaving the desert behind.

Their pace was slower than on the journey down; the vote had been taken, the result known, and there was no need to hurry and good reason to go gently. For while Lindir was much better, he still could not ride for very long, or very quickly, without some pain returning, and as evening began to   
loom around them, he leaned in his saddle as if trying to ease the discomfort.

‘As I recall, we’re an hour away from that terrible in where the bread was harder than the beds,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Or we could stop here for the night, what do you say?’

His question was aimed at the group generally, but his eyes returned to Lindir.

Erestor replied for them all.

‘There is shelter here, there is even a small stream for the horses, although we will need a watch lest it attract night predators. With a fire, we should be safe enough and I, for one, have no longing for hard beds and harder bread when the ground is, at least, of a known quality.’

Glorfindel nodded and dismounted, and was reaching out to take Lindir’s bridle when he found Erestor there to help before him. Lindir slid from his mount’s back with a sigh, not noticing who had aided him, but muttering vague thanks while Glorfindel stared at Erestor’s hand on the horse’s bridle, and wondered why he was annoyed.

‘We will see to the horses,’ Elrohir offered, and the moment passed in the bustle of making camp, but later, once the fire was burning and the horses tethered and the bedrolls spread, Glorfindel followed Erestor to the stream to fetch water.

‘What were you doing?’ he asked. ‘It’s my job to help Lindir. There was no need for you to step forward.’

Erestor sat back on his haunches, the waterskin beside him.

‘I am sorry if I offended you. It was not my intention.’

‘Offended…?’

‘It was nothing, one of those silly remarks Elladan is still capable of from time to time. While you were translating for Lindir in the inn, Elladan commented that our elderly female friend might think you and Lindir were…’ He cleared his throat. This was probably not the best way to voice his concern, but having started, he had no choice but to press on. ‘…each other’s wives. Now, before you become angry…’

But Glorfindel did not look angry. His expression was astonished, so Erestor continued with his explanation to fill the time until Glorfindel worked out   
what he was thinking and why he was so troubled by a simple hand on a bridle.

‘Glorfindel, we all know you feel you are our guardian warrior, that it is your duty to protect us all and that you feel responsible for what happened. And you have been unfailingly supportive to our poor friend. But we will be back in lands we know, soon. Your attentiveness could be mistaken for attention…’

Glorfindel swore explosively, and Erestor shrugged.

‘You have been a very kind and thoughtful friend to Lindir. He is starting to recover, but I am concerned that too much consideration may work against his recovery. And if it is you, constantly, helping, then he is less likely to see his own improvement.’

‘You may be right,’ Glorfindel said with a shrug. ‘But I’ve become used to helping him.’

‘I am not saying, do not help him. I am saying, let us help, too, lest the Men of Gondor think there is more between you than there is, and make assumptions about Lindir’s preferences. Such a notion, if voiced where Lindir could hear it, could prove an unpleasant reminder.’

‘And the irony is, I doubt he will ever consider a male partner. Not now.’

‘No.’ Erestor smiled and returned to his task, dipping the waterskin into the stream to fill it. ‘No, he is far too deeply in love with the memory of Kovalia to think of anyone else, whatever their gender. Well, this is done. Would you help me up?’

Glorfindel extended his arm and hauled Erestor up the bank. At the top, the advisor held the warrior’s gaze.

‘What happened was not your fault. It is easy to feel responsible; I felt guilty myself, for being so sour of face I was not taken, too… ridiculous, I know, but I could not shake the notion that, if Lindir had not been there alone…’

Glorfindel grinned suddenly, equilibrium restored and took charge of the now-full waterskin.

 

‘Well, you cannot help having had the kind of life that has set your face in such stern lines, Erestor… yet one would not have to be very drunk to be attracted to you…’

The advisor permitted himself a smile, eyes dancing.

‘Oh, a fine compliment, indeed! Whereas one would have to be drunk and stupid to be drawn to such a wondrous specimen as yourself… and pass me back that waterskin, you’ll drop it if you laugh any harder…’

Glorfindel was still grinning when they returned to the camp to find food ready and the bedrolls spread. His smile faltered a little as he saw Lindir’s had been placed against where a steep bank rose behind, but he quirked an eyebrow at himself and decided Erestor was right; he was fussing over Lindir like a naneth with her elfling, and it was better for Lindir that he stop. Better for both of them, perhaps.

‘I’ll take first watch,’ he said.

*

Lindir woke with a start and the taste of a bad, bad dream in his mouth. The camp fire had died to embers, but gave off a soft glow. At his back, the bulk of the bank rose up protectively, and just beyond the ring of bedrolls he could see a black shape against the darkness; Glorfindel pacing as he kept watch on the camp. 

He was safe, and what was more, he knew he was safe. Tomorrow, or the next day, they would be back in South Ithilien, and the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds, and all its associated memories, would be behind him.  
Including Kovalia.

He ran the melody of his song through his mind, practiced imaginary fingering on the lute, considered how wonderful it would be to sing the song to her, and found his way back into reverie.


	13. An Unwelcome Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the elves reach Minas Tirith and speak with Aragorn

As the travelling conditions improved, so, too, did Lindir’s mood, and if he noticed there were now four elves in turn holding his bridle and quite literally watching his back, he saw it less that Glorfindel was stepping aside and more that his other friends were reassured that he was recovered enough to be treated normally again.

So South Ithilien passed, and when the inn at Osgiliath was found to have no connecting rooms, Lindir was comfortable enough to say it did not matter, and surprised even himself by passing the night in undisturbed reverie and was able to join the others feeling properly rested for once.  
Lindir took his seat at the breakfast table, listening as Erestor spoke.

‘We should reach Minas Tirith by early afternoon, if we set off soon and ride at a good pace,’ he said.

‘Or we can take a more leisurely ride across the Pelennor Fields and come there later,’ Glorfindel suggested.

‘Why would we wish to do that?’ Erestor countered. ‘It is hardly going to be scenic, this soon after the war… and surely Elladan and Elrohir are keen to see their sister as soon as possible?’

‘After so long apart a few hours isn’t going to matter,’ Elladan shrugged. ‘Besides, I think my brother had too much of that appalling beer last night; he looks a little peaky…’

‘Peaky? Peaky? I would have you know…’

But Elladan’s eyes had slid to where Lindir was sitting with a slight smile on his face, apparently enjoying the exchange, and Erestor realised it wasn’t Elrohir who was looking off-colour, but that there was a tightness to Lindir’s eyes and the ghost of a tremor to his hands. Of course – the sooner they reached Minas Tirith, the sooner Lindir would have to talk about their time in the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds with all the recollections and associations that would bring…

‘Oh, very well!’ Erestor said, throwing up his hands as if exasperated. ‘For the sake of your very old bones, Glorfindel, we will ride more slowly. That is, if you are not so decrepit that being late for the noon meal will make you faint?’

‘If so, then I will depend on your young, strong arms to bear me up,’ Glorfindel said.

‘Ha! My young, strong arms will be folded across my chest as I shake my head in disappointment at your lack of stamina…’

Thinking himself unnoticed, Lindir gave a sigh of relief. He would be fine, he knew; he was being foolish, no doubt. But now the reality of how near to Gondor he was had begun to sink in, he was feeling the old stir of anxiety again.

He might not need to say anything about his experiences to Elessar Telcontar, the High King whom Lindir knew better, even now, as Aragorn… he would, though, be able to talk at length about Kovalia, her kindness, and the others would be able to speak of the helpfulness of the people towards strangers. He would be able to voice his opinion of the importance of the alliance, and the worth of the people, generally.

Surely, if anything unpleasant had to be mentioned, one of his friends would do it?

As soon as the thought occurred to him, he began to realise that if he was to properly leave the memory behind in the past where it belonged, he would have to learn to speak about it without flinching.

‘Well, that’s settled then,’ Glorfindel was saying now. ‘We’ll take a leisurely breakfast here, bespeak lunch for the road, and ride out gently to spare my old bones and Elrohir’s delicate head.’

‘Very well.’ Erestor paused and shrugged. ‘And at some point we will need to consider what we will say to Aragorn and how we will say it.’ He looked an apology towards Lindir. ‘I am aware this will be difficult for you, mellon-nin.’

‘Perhaps talking amongst ourselves first will be good preparation; after all, we are all strongly in favour of the king accepting the fiefdom’s wish to join the kingdom.’

‘You can leave us to do the talking,’ Elrohir suggested.

‘If it helps,’ Elladan added.

Lindir shook his head.

‘I am most grateful that you would spare me this,’ he said. ‘But you were not there for all of it.’

‘But what we were there for…’ Elrohir began.

‘I think if we make it plain that there is a very small faction which is prepared to stop at nothing to interfere with the signing of the treaty, and that the rest of the fiefdom is eager for the union, then the rest of the tale can be told without fear of ruining the alliance,’ Erestor said. ‘I am more than willing to state the case in the proper political terms so that there will be no misunderstanding.’

‘While I can speak on the fiefdom’s strategic value,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Good, now that’s sorted, let’s order more breakfast…’

‘And what will we speak of?’ Elladan asked. ‘The friendliness of the locals?’

‘I think you two should speak to your sister, and keep out of the politics,’ Glorfindel said. ‘It’ll make things easier for Erestor.’

‘But what about for Lindir?’ Elrohir asked.

‘I will be fine,’ Lindir said. ‘Really, I will be glad when all this is done and we can go home. I am a little nervous, it’s true. But the worst is over.’

*

By the time Glorfindel had eaten his fill and Elladan’s alleged hangover had cleared, the morning was drawing on and the leisurely ride became not quite so leisurely. 

They passed over the Rammas Echor and broke off for lunch and to rest the horses within the Pelennor Fields. The grass was already growing over the scars of war, the homes and cots and farmsteads slowly being rebuilt, and it was not so bad as they had feared.

Still, they were on their way again within an hour and rode into Minas Tirith to a bugled welcome late in the afternoon.  
Inside the Citadel, they were escorted to the royal residence where a servant showed them to rooms where they could rest after the journey before announcing the dinner hour and promising to return to fetch them.

*

Lindir had been lying back on his bed trying to relax when there was a tap on his door and Glorfindel stood there.

‘I’ve sent for some decent clothes for you – you can hardly go to dinner in the clothes Kovalia gifted you.’

‘I know. Had I realised I was about to be kidnapped I would have worn older garments… is there any chance we can just eat in our rooms tonight?’

Glorfindel shook his head.

‘No – we have to endure the full ceremony of a state banquet. But Erestor has a visitor and we are all invited... well, I say ‘we’, but Elladan and Elrohir have found their sister in the gardens and will not be joining us.’

‘It’s probably a good thing – their hearts are pure, but their mouths sometimes don’t find the right words.’ 

‘Come on. Get your boots back on.’

It was no surprise, really, to see who Erestor’s visitor was - a long-limbed conglomerate of untidy limbs, indeterminate hair and friendly grey-blue eyes. He smiled from where he sprawled on a delicate, elegant chair in the corner of the room.

‘Greetings, Lindir,’ he said.

‘Your majesty.’ Lindir bowed. ‘I trust we find you well?’

‘Lindir, I leave all the majesty behind once I set the crown aside; I’m just Aragorn at present.’

‘Then, Aragorn, how are you?’

‘Very well.’ He waved a beer bottle in Lindir’s direction, the refreshments having arrived also. ‘Especially as they only serve wine to the king – whichever of you   
asked for beer, thank you!’

‘I think it was Elrohir,’ Glorfindel said, taking a seat and nudging Lindir to sit, also.

‘So, tell me… how was the journey? What did you think of the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds?’

‘The journey from Imladris is very long,’ Erestor began. ‘From the fiefdom to here was not so bad. The people generally are kind and hospitable. Those living in the villages around the mountain passes are curious and friendly. General opinion is that a treaty with Gondor would be greatly to their advantage, and their head of state is widely revered and respected…’

‘I had a message to say that they had voted to press ahead with the treaty. It now rests with Gondor whether to accept their offer or not.’

‘I would very strongly suggest you accept,’ Erestor said. ‘Not only is it what the populace wish, but it would only benefit the country.’

‘And Gondor,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Strategically, the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds is of great importance. And, if Gondor accepts them, there are several adjacent fiefdoms which will follow suit and strengthen Gondor’s influence in the south.’

‘There is opposition, though?’

‘A small group only. Briot, the brother of the head of state has been stirring trouble. He is eager to prevent the treaty, himself favouring a union with the southern states… he and his supporters, the Briotani, are not liked and are generally feared.’

‘What happened while you were there?’ Aragorn asked.

‘We stayed with a local family, absorbing the atmosphere and were treated well. There is a huge language problem – very few have Westron, never mind Sindarin…’

‘An interesting problem, indeed. Did my brethren-in-law stir up any trouble, at all?’

‘None, surprisingly. It may be they are finally realising how old they actually are…’

‘I think you have never been so far from home before, Lindir. How did you feel about the trip?’

‘It was… interesting. Lord Elrond thought it would do me good to experience new cultures. I have learned much.’

‘Go on?’ 

There was too much idle curiosity to Aragorn’s voice for them not to note it.

‘I had the inspiration for a new song,’ Lindir offered. ‘And I fell in love with a lady whom I know only as ‘Kovalia’, though I understand that is the name of a local fruit.’

‘Hmm.’ Aragorn nodded to himself and his eyes grew cautious. ‘So… nobody was taken away and raped, then?’

Silence fell on the room like an avalanche.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Erestor managed finally, his voice a hissed whisper.

‘Why would you…?’ Glorfindel began.

‘Two messengers came from the fiefdom. One said the vote had been taken and that they wished to come under the guidance of the High King… it was properly written, in their own tongue, granted, and accompanied by a fair translation in Westron and it was brought by a polite and self-effacing courier who had enough Westron himself for courtesy.’ 

Aragorn looked at his three friends from Rivendell. Glorfindel looked outraged, Erestor worried, and Lindir had turned his head away to stare at the window.

‘The second messenger arrived a half day later… I would have thrown him in the dungeons as soon as look at him, in fact I have him under house arrest, although he thinks he is but a guest here. The letter he bore was a warning, that there were those in the country who hate and despise elvenkind and that any who cross the borders will meet an unpleasant fate. It went on to say that one such traveller had been taken and raped and that such was likely to happen to any, that Gondor would do better to have nothing to do with such a country. Now, I cannot see how this message fits with what you tell me of the place…’

Aragorn paused to look at the elven faces surrounding him, not sure why the mood of the room had unexpectedly darkened.

‘So, why are you now so silent, my friends?’

‘To hear you use the word ‘rape’ is shocking. We have never spoken of it so bluntly. It is too harsh, too real a word…’ Lindir said softly. ‘My friends have heard me talk of my ordeal, the attack, the abuse… but we have never spoken of it in such terms. Not even in my mind, have I used that word to describe what happened.’

‘Lindir…? Not you?’ Aragorn said in the softest of voices. ‘I did not realise… I thought the second missive was an attempt to stall the treaty agreement, simply done to attempt to dissuade me. Had I for a moment thought there to be any truth to it…’

‘Well, there was truth to it!’ Glorfindel said, his voice angry and pained. ‘And Lindir, who has been through so much, is now reminded…’

‘Peace, mellon-nin,’ Lindir said. ‘Aragorn, I will tell you all – but… my friends, not again to you. I cannot bear to see your faces change, not again…’

He made to get to his feet, but Erestor shook his head.

‘Stay here. I will sit with Glorfindel for a while in his room.’

*

Glorfindel’s chamber was only next door, and he growled and paced like a desert lion about the room, listening in to the sounds of the voices; Aragorn’s now gentle and soft, the healer in him coming out, Lindir’s reduced to a monotone, at times falling silent for too long.

‘Glorfindel, sit,’ Erestor suggested. ‘You’re wearing out the nice rug.’

‘Is he all right, do you think? How could Aragorn say such a thing…?’ 

‘Glorfindel…’ 

‘This will set him back, see if it does not, see if we do not wake to his distress tonight…’

‘Glorfindel, hush! You are not helping!’ Erestor sighed. ‘Aragorn is probably the best person Lindir could speak to right now. You have done much to help him – I would hope we have all contributed to his recovery – but we have heard the tale and to recount it, to an understanding listener, a healer, can only help!’

‘Well… but I’m worried.’

‘I know. So am I. But at least we do not need to hide it, now. I feared the truth coming out, but perhaps it is well that it has.’

Some time later, a very gentle tapping on the door revealed Lindir on the other side of it, Aragorn with him.

‘Your room is free again, Erestor,’ Lindir said.

‘Are you well, mellon-nin?’ Erestor said, opening the door wider.

‘Better, thank you. Aragorn always was a good listener.’ Lindir smiled. ‘I feel calmer than I have for days. I’ll go to my own room, I think, and rest.’

‘I’ll need to seek my chambers soon myself,’ Aragorn said. ‘But I think there’s some beer left…?’

‘Good idea,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Erestor? Are you coming?’

‘Since it is my own chamber, of course I am…’

*

Lindir retreated to his own room with relief. In truth, he did feel better for talking to Aragorn, to be allowed to recount the tale without fear and at a small distance away from events. The man’s gentle, targeted questioning had helped him reassess what had happened and he began to feel he would be able to set the whole thing behind him.

The promised clothes had been delivered, and once he had bathed and changed into robes more like to those he had been used to wearing in Rivendell, he began to feel far more hopeful for the future.

His mood lifting through the banquet, he found himself enjoying the company, for once, and after the queen had risen and all had followed her through to the state sitting rooms for conversation and music, he allowed himself to be persuaded into playing for Arwen the melody he’d been working on for Kovalia’s song.

It was a joy to have a harp to work with, and although the melody had only existed in his head and written down, so long had he been playing that the tune and the harmonies flowed easily from his mind to his hands and into music and when he finished, he found a little group of admirers around.

‘That was lovely, Lindir!’ Arwen exclaimed. ‘And are there words for this love song? For it surely is a love song, is it not?’

‘Indeed it is. At the moments, they are thoughts and ideas, half-phrases and glimpses of vision, but it will come.’

It would come.

He fell asleep toying with words and spent the night in easy, restful reverie.

*

Morning brought Elrohir to his door, tapping cheerfully and announcing breakfast downstairs in ten minutes.

‘I am already up and dressed,’ Lindir said, opening the door. ‘Working on the words for Kovalia’s song, in truth.’

‘Good, because Arwen wants to hear all about your mysterious beloved…’

‘Well, I am not sure it is fit for her hearing…’

Elrohir laughed and fell into step beside his friend. Glorfindel and Erestor, having had Elladan knock on their doors, joined them at the head of the stairs so that   
they went down in a little cluster to the room where Arwen had arranged to take breakfast with them.

It was good to see Elladan and Elrohir with their sister, laughing and teasing and generally glad to be together again, Lindir thought, enjoying the humour of the hour. Marriage seemed to suit Arwen; although delighted to see her brothers, she did not seem to have missed them or to be at all homesick.

‘For if home is where the heart is, than I am always going to be here with my Elessar,’ she said. ‘When you find that one person that you belong with, nothing else matters. What do you say, Lindir? Your music last night suggested you have found your one person, too?’

‘Ai, my lady! It is not quite so simple… I doubt we will meet again.’

‘But that would be too sad, Lindir – you must try. Promise me, you will try?’

‘You know, you did say you would write from Gondor,’ Erestor said. ‘And while I have the leisure, I would be happy to translate for you.’

‘Yes, indeed; the messengers from the fiefdom are still here; I am sure one would carry back a letter for you.’

‘Then we should get on; Lindir?’ Erestor tipped his head encouragingly. ‘Would you like to begin this morning?’

‘You can use the library,’ Arwen said, eager to help the cause of True Love. ‘It is just through here…’

She led them through to one of the lesser corridors – ‘a short cut, so many miles of passages in this place!’ - and out again into another. They passed a little open area, a crossing of ways made into something more, and was turning down towards the library when a loud voice from behind in an uncouth, rough tongue assailed their ears. It was answered by a servant in Westron, the tone placating.

‘Come, turn away,’ Erestor said, recognising the sounds as the dialect of the fiefdom. ‘We do not want to be recognised in case this messenger is one of the Briotani…’

But they had turned, instead, towards the voice automatically, looking at the source of the disturbance even as the arguer was bustled back inside the room. 

Lindir stared. He knew the man, remembered the voice, the touch of the thick fingers in his hair, the memory of the fear and the despair he had felt in the back of the cart as he began to realise what might be in store for him…

Glorfindel lost interest in the argument the moment he saw the colour drain from Lindir’s face, saw him stagger and turn to push through behind his friends, to fall against the wall as if trying to hide.

‘What is the matter?’ Arwen exclaimed.

‘The library?’ Glorfindel suggested.

She hurried past and opened a door.

‘Here.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Erestor said. ‘Please – leave this to us, but have Aragorn sent for.’

Glorfindel reached Lindir and was speaking softly to him, leading him to a seat in the library, Lindir clinging and shaking all the way.

‘Elladan, Elrohir, help me seek my husband,’ Arwen said, hurrying off and leaving Erestor watching the door and Glorfindel trying to help his friend.

Lindir hid behind his hands, trying to calm himself. All it once it had come back; the fear, the helplessness, the dread…

‘What is it, Lindir?’ Glorfindel asked. ‘Did you see that man before?’

Lindir trembled, his shoulders shuddering, but could find no answer.

‘I have seen him before Glorfindel,’ Erestor said. ‘I think so. I knew the voice, certainly; one of the lesser Briotani, one of those who kidnapped us.’

‘I see. That is, I think I see… Lindir, mellon-nin, you are safe here. Erestor guards the door, I am at your side. None can harm you. Come, try to tell us…?’

Lindir shook his head.

‘Very well. Just try to feel better…’ Glorfindel patted Lindir’s shoulder. ‘Believe me, you are safe.’

Presently, Erestor spoke.

‘Aragorn is on his way,’ he said. ‘He looks as he used to when we knew him in Rivendell, a deranged Ranger on a mission…’

‘What is it, what has happened?’ Aragorn hurried into the library. ‘Arwen said Lindir has been taken ill?’

‘Not ill, as such… the man in the corridor – I take it he was the other messenger from the fiefdom?’ Erestor said, closing the library door.

‘Yes, what of him…? It was not he who…?’

‘I recognised him as one involved in the kidnap,’ Erestor said. ‘But more than that, I cannot say…’

‘He… I woke in the back of the wagon, in the dark…’ 

Lindir had dropped his hands away from his face but couldn’t look up as he continued. 

‘…and he was there, his hands… his fingers in my hair, his hands were dirty, I felt… it was then I knew fear…’ 

‘Ai, Lindir…!’ Glorfindel muttered. ‘I did not know of this…’

‘Well, compared to the other, it seemed nothing, not worth mentioning… but this one… when they carried me in, his hands were… the others stopped him… Will I never be done with this, Glorfindel?’ he gasped out. ‘Will it never be over?’

‘Peace, Lindir… it is but a set-back. You will be well of it. In some cases, the fear of what might be is worse than the abuse… and you have not talked of this, it has been a burden to you, and you did not know it. But it is out now, you will be able to purge yourself of this memory, too.’

‘He was involved in the kidnap?’ Aragorn asked.

‘Yes,’ Erestor said shortly. What part of this did Aragorn not understand?

‘And he molested our friend?’

‘Again, yes. Were we unclear?’

‘No, I needed to be certain, that is all. He will not be returning to his own country in the near future. In fact, I shall arrange to have him removed to the dungeons immediately.’

He crossed the room and crouched down in front of Lindir, looking up at him with sympathy. ‘My friend, I am sorry you had to see him again, and under my roof. I would not have had it happen for the world… if I may be of any use to you, any service at all…’

‘I think we would like to take Lindir back to his room,’ Glorfindel said.

‘I’ll walk with you. Come, we can go another way, we need not be near that corridor. Erestor, do you wish to check the way is clear? We will go to the left…’

With Aragorn leading, Erestor taking charge of Lindir and Glorfindel following, they made their way through the intricacies of the building to come to the elves’ quarters again.

‘Here you are, safe once more. I will look in on you later.’ Aragorn laid a reassuring hand on Lindir’s shoulder. ‘Rest, my friend. And remember; if you need me, I will come.’


	14. Briotanus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aragorn is appalled and Erestor accuses Briot's man to his face...

‘I do not understand you!’ Aragorn pushed his hands through his already untidy hair and stared at Erestor. ‘After all this, you would still have me support a country where such abhorrent behaviour takes place? Bring it under Gondor’s governance? You appal me!’

He paused, and for a moment Erestor dared hope the tirade was over, but no; Aragorn was but taking a breath.

‘I have always known elves understand things differently, sometimes, but so differently? Do you not see how badly harmed Lindir has been?’

‘Of course we see it,’ Erestor said, trying to calm the king by keeping his own voice soft when, really, he would have liked, just for once, to raise his voice. 

‘We rescued him. We have all heard his screams in the night and tried to comfort him, we know how shattered he has been by these events. But…’

‘Be very careful how you qualify that remark, Erestor…’

‘I was about to say – but have you asked Lindir what he wants?’

‘He does not know what he is saying; he is distressed…’

The library door opened to admit Glorfindel.

‘You sound quite distressed yourself, Estel,’ Glorfindel said, closing the door behind him.  
Aragorn waved irritably at use of his childhood name.

‘How is he?’

‘The worst of the horror of the memories is passing. He wishes now to be simply left alone for a while.’ Glorfindel shrugged. ‘Elrohir is in the room next door, listening out for him.’

‘Good. And what do you have to say about this?’

‘In what sense?’ Glorfindel asked with care. ‘I hate to see our friend suffer. What is worse is that he thought he was leaving his tormentors behind, and instead…’

‘The man is already in my dungeons… I do not know how long I can keep him there, but…’

‘You are the High King. Until he rots, why not?’

‘Glorfindel!’ Erestor protested. ‘Aragorn, I can swear to it that this man was one of those who kidnapped me. I knew his voice. That should give you cause enough to hold him, at least until the treaty is signed…’

‘I am not certain there will be a treaty…’

‘Then everything Lindir has endured is for nothing and you condemn him to an eternity of torment, knowing that those who sought to prevent the treaty have won. You negate his sacrifice of pain.’

‘Erestor…’ Glorfindel took a seat. ‘It’s adding fuel to the fire, I know. But he needs to know all of it. Just in case the prisoner starts telling all the stories.’

‘What’s this?’ Aragorn asked.

Erestor shook his head.

‘Lindir and I were not the intended targets. Briot wanted the twins.’

‘What?’

‘One for him and one to entrap his sister with. You know about his sister? She is a much-loved and valued leader and Briot was trying to implicate her in this. He even had her wine drugged as he did ours. At the very least, it was a ploy to distract her, to keep her from the council and to have her discovered with a captive in her rooms. Of course he knew we would protest, and he knows your close ties to elvenkind. This, or something like it, is exactly what he has planned for, Aragorn.’

Erestor paused to gather his thoughts.

‘Briot and his small cadre of followers are desperate to prevent the treaty. Everyone else, from their Lady who Leads right down to the humblest smallholder, are good and kindly souls. Did Lindir not tell you about Kovalia?’

‘No,’ Aragorn admitted. ‘Except the music he was playing last evening…’

‘Kovalia saved him,’ Erestor said simply. ‘She fed him, gave him salve for where his bonds had cut into him, found him a knife and clothes and stopped   
him from feeling he was utterly ruined.’

‘Even so…’

‘He’s in love with her,’ Glorfindel said. ‘So if you refuse the treaty, you’re also condemning this human woman who was as kind to him as the others were cruel.’

‘So who is she? Can we seek her out?’

‘We only know her as ‘Kovalia’, which we know now is the name of a kind of fruit… a misunderstanding, the language is truly abominable… but there is evidence to suggest she is their Lady who Leads.’

‘Really? And Lindir…?’ Aragorn shook his head. ‘Very well. For Lindir’s sake I will not decline the treaty. But I will question this Kovalia, if I ever find her,   
and learn her version of the tale. As for the villain in my dungeons, Erestor, if you would accuse him, then you must face him. Do you feel able to do so?’

‘Of course. He only kidnapped me. But that is enough of a wrong in itself. Shall we go now?’

*

‘Lindir?’ Glorfindel knocked on his friend’s door. ‘May I speak with you?’

‘A moment.’

He waited considerably more than a moment, hearing the sound as of something heavy being dragged across the floor before the noise of the key in the lock came and the door opened to him. As he finally entered, he saw a coffer in the middle of the floor, and realised Lindir had used it to block the   
doorway.

‘Ai, Lindir…! Tell me, how do you feel now?’

‘I wish to leave, Glorfindel. How soon can we be on our way?’

‘We could leave within the hour, mellon-nin, if you feel it necessary.’

‘How can I stay in the same place where… where he is?’ Lindir demanded, dropping onto the coffer and hiding his face with his hands. ‘Please, can we go?’

‘The man is under lock and guard in the dungeons; Aragorn will not let him free. You are safe, Lindir, safe…’

‘I am, now that you are here. Will you lock and block the door for me while I wash? I need to wash my hair.’

‘Your hair is already wet, Lindir. Have you not already washed it?’

‘Again, though, I have to… you don’t understand.’

‘This is me you’re talking to. On the contrary, I understand far too well…’ Glorfindel sighed and turned the key in the lock. ‘Go and wash, my friend. And remember this as you do – it is a long ride home, and where will you be able to then?’

*

There was a small and stark guard room at the end of the corridor which housed the cells and Aragorn instructed the gaolers to bring the Briotanus there.

‘Lord Erestor and I have a reason for speaking with him personally,’ Aragorn said. ‘Bring him and wait outside.’

The man was fetched, his hands bound behind him, and he was dropped onto his knees on the ground in front of Aragorn. Erestor stood in the shadows of the door, for the moment an unobserved observer.

The Briotanus began by staring defiance at Aragorn, but as he kept glaring at the steady grey eyes and the steadfast expression, some of his bravado began to crumble and presently he began to bluster.

‘A fine thing for so great a king, to throw a messenger into the dungeons! And what have I done to you, great king of the west, to deserve such treatment?’ 

The man made to rise, but Aragorn lifted a finger in a gesture of warning and the Briotanus stayed on his knees.

‘We know you have lied and misrepresented yourself. We know you do not serve the Lady who Leads…’

‘I serve her brother, Briot, who is of our leading family…! You cannot throw me in prison for serving them…’

‘But you claimed to be other than you are.’ Aragorn turned his head. ‘Have you seen enough? Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure.’ Erestor stepped forward. ‘This is one of the men who drugged and kidnapped me. I remember his voice and his bearing. I was forcibly restrained and then carried some distance and abandoned, still bound. I was not treated with kindness, your majesty.’

He paused to wrinkle his nose.

‘And I recognise his smell, also. It is quite distinctive.’

The man began to growl but Aragorn raised his hand to silence him.

‘If you have anything to say, now is the time to say it, clearly and in words we can understand. If you do not have enough Westron, I have sufficient of your own language to understand any lack.’

‘It was an accident. A mistake…’ The man tried to shrug, tried to rewrite his story. ‘We had no intention of taking the lord here; we were after the others and Farle brought the wrong ones… naturally, I released him as soon as I knew what had happened… the lord himself just said, O King, that we let him go   
unharmed…’

‘I heard the words ‘abandoned, still bound.’ I also heard you say ‘the wrong ones’ and so must ask what happened to the others?’

‘Others? Others? King, there were no others…’

‘I would advise you to think carefully. You are already in grave danger and risk compounding your many offences…’

‘One. One other. I… I do not know what happened to him. He was taken to the palace. I didn’t see him after that.’

‘And…?’

The man shook his head.

‘It is not important in context, I suppose,’ Aragorn said. ‘You were right, Erestor; he has already crimes enough against him to keep him here for years…’

‘Years! I protest! I am innocent!’

‘Plainly, you are not.’

‘My Lord will notice I am missing. He… he sent me, he will know when I have not returned that I have been…’

‘What? Kidnapped?’ Aragorn said.

‘Your majesty,’ Erestor put in. ‘We were a few days from the palace when we were stranded by one of the desert storms that blew in. When these come, nothing moves. Nothing can. Men and horses can be swallowed up in an instant; we heard many stories about entire trade trains being lost in storms, dozens of men and mules never heard from again. Briot will not note the loss of one man and think it anything other than a storm-death. None will seek him.’

Aragorn raised his voice.

‘Guards! Take him back to the cells. He is going to be with us for some time.’


	15. Arwen, Helping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor writes a letter and Arwen washes her hands... and alarms her brothers...

_‘To: The Palace Building, Main Town, Fiefdom of the Desert Winds._

_‘For: The Lady who Leads._

_‘From: Lord Erestor, Chief Advisor to Lord Elrond, Master of Rivendell, greetings._

_‘Lady,_

_‘Being recently in your fiefdom in company with some companions, I wish to commend the kindness and hospitality of the good Master Torre and his wife Carli who sheltered us while we sought for one of our friends who had gone missing._

_‘We discovered our unfortunate friend had fallen in amongst bad company, but then had found himself in the care of a Lady who treated him with great kindness and gentleness and respect._

_‘Our friend – who is named Lindir - wishes to make known his sincere gratitude to the Lady, who he knows only as ‘Kovalia’. Our friend is still suffering some of the effects of his treatment, but the kindness of this Lady has done much to hasten his recovery._

_‘If you are able to find her out, please tell Kovalia that Lindir holds her in his heart with great esteem and thankfulness._

_‘With respectful duty,_

_‘I remain,_

_‘Your well-wisher and would-be ally,_

_‘Erestor of Rivendell.’_

 

Erestor sanded the ink and folded the parchment before dripping wax from the taper onto the edge and pressing his seal to it. 

He sighed to himself, and reached for the bell pull to summon the servant.

‘My lord?’

‘I have a letter to be conveyed to the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds. It must go as soon as possible, by the safest means.’

‘It will be done, my lord.’

‘Good. It is important, do not let it lie.’

The servant bowed and took the letter and left the room.

Was it the right thing to do? He didn’t know. All he knew was that Lindir had lost all courage, all interest in writing to Kovalia himself, and that the further away from the fiefdom they got, the harder it would be to ensure a message got there. He did not want to reach Imladris and to find Lindir was harbouring secret regrets…

‘Erestor? Are you there?’ Glorfindel looked into the room. ‘We were worried; no-one has seen you since you confronted that man of Briot’s… Are you well?’

‘I am well. I am annoyed and tired and wish to be home again, but I am well. How is Lindir?’

‘Washing his hair for the third time to my knowledge… Elladan is with him, and Elrohir outside his door. And Lindir wishes to be home again, also.’

‘I cannot help but feel for him.’

‘He wants to leave as soon as possible… it is only fear of the lack of hot water on the return journey holds him back, I feel…’

Erestor’s mouth moved in the smallest of smiles.

‘I know you jest to lighten the mood and not to mock, mellon-nin… but what can we do? How can we leave when we have barely arrived?’

‘You and the twins stay. I’ll ride with Lindir home. Or at least to Ithilien; he’ll feel safer there, amongst the wood elves’ colony.’

‘Let me put the matter to Aragorn; I fear Lindir is not really strong enough to ride out again so soon, not after this distress.’

‘Very well, Erestor. What’s being done about that villain in the dungeons?’

‘Aragorn has taken my sworn statement and the man condemned himself with his own words. While claiming only to have been following orders, of course, he admitted his part in events… and inadvertently cleared the Lady who Leads of any complicity by doing so. He will not see the outside of the cell until after the treaty has gone through, certainly.’

‘Good. I’ll pass that on to our friend.’

*  
Glorfindel trailed his way through the building to Lindir’s room. In the corridor, leaning against the walls and talking together in low voices, Elladan and Elrohir straightened up and wandered down to intercept him.

‘What’s going on? Lindir?’

‘Our sister is with him,’ Elrohir said with a bemused smile. ‘She told us to stand aside and not be silly about it, would you believe?’

‘It seems Aragorn had tried to shield her from what had happened, but she now knows all – or thinks she knows all,’ Elladan added, ‘and has appointed herself Lindir’s newest confidant.’

‘Well, it must be said that the pair of you have been very silly in your time, and I am sure Arwen has seen more of it than I have… Come on, sit with me in my room until they’re done, why not?’

Leaving the door open so he could see if Arwen came out, Glorfindel waved the twins to sit, talking idly to pass the time.

‘What’s this?’ Glorfindel asked presently, seeing a procession of servants bearing boxes approaching Lindir’s room and knocking. ‘What’s she doing in there?’

Leaning out of the room, he watched as Arwen took delivery of the boxes and dismissed the servants.

‘Arwen?’ he asked, unable to contain his curiosity. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Hats,’ she told him with a smile. ‘Just hats.’

*

Arwen shut the door and smiled reassuringly at Lindir. Over the course of the preceding hour she’d had the full tale of the kidnap and subsequent events, and had not known whether she was more distressed at what Lindir had endured or annoyed that Aragorn had deliberately kept the facts from her.

‘I cannot remain here!’ Lindir had kept repeating. ‘I am truly very sorry, my lady, but I do not feel clean while I am in the same house…’

‘Well, that is easily settled,’ she had told him. ‘The house which was set aside for the use of the Fellowship is currently held in readiness, should any of our friends wish to come to visit. I am sure you and Glorfindel and Erestor could stay there, if that is better for you.’

‘Thank you, my lady. You are very kind.’

‘No – I am only sorry that you have been so distressed. But the man is locked away and my brothers are outside on guard. There is no risk that he will come near you. Now, what else may I do to help?’

‘I… I wish to wash my hair again…’

‘Again, Lindir? It is not good, you know, to wash it too often.’

‘But it ceases to feel clean so swiftly. I need to know…’

And that was when she had the idea.

‘Very well. You wash your hair, and I will send out for something to make sure your hair stays clean. You will trust me, I hope? You will let me help?’

‘Thank you, my lady.’

And so the servant had been summoned, and sent away with clear and decisive instructions, and presently Glorfindel had been treated to the sight of six servants bearing hatboxes all arriving at Lindir’s door.

Arwen took delivery with a smile and closed the door before going to the table where the boxes had been set, peeking inside.

‘Oh these are wonderful!’ she said. ‘And new, Lindir. Everything here is new and fresh and clean. Now, follow me.’

‘But why?’ he asked, doing as he was bid and trailing after her into the washroom where Arwen had rolled up her sleeves and was scrubbing fiercely at her hands.

 

‘So that you can see my hands are absolutely clean, of course! See?’  
‘Yes…’

‘Are my hands clean?’

‘Yes, my lady…’

‘Are they clean enough, Lindir?’

‘Your hands are really very clean…’

‘I’m glad you agree. Now, back in the other room and sit you down in front of the looking glass…’

‘I do not understand…’

‘You will. Now, you can see us both?’

‘I can, my lady…’

‘Oh, please stop ‘my ladying’ me. Arwen is fine, we are friends and not in high company.’ She held his reflected gaze. ‘My dear friend, you must know you cannot keep on washing your hair all the time; it is not good for you hair, or for your fëa…’

‘But, Arwen, it feels tainted…’

‘Does it now?’

‘No; at the moment, it feels clean.’

‘And my hands are clean?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, I will place my clean hands on your clean hair and it will remain clean. Then I will braid you, as your Naneth might have done, and so replace the memory of the touch that so troubled you.’

‘I do not see how.’

‘Well, let me try. You see, I think not many have touched your hair, and if you can remember a pleasant touch, it may help. Your Naneth must have, but is there any from… from after the time of your distress?’

‘Kovalia,’ he whispered. ‘I am sure she… I flinched from her fist touch, but later…’

‘Then think of Kovalia, or your Naneth, as I braid you. That is, I wish you will allow me to braid you?’

‘Yes… I think I can.’

In the mirror, the reflection of Arwen placed gentle hands on the reflection or Lindir’s head. She watched an expression of fear pass across his face, saw him tense.

‘Mellon-nin, I will stop whenever you ask me to. But I think this will help, if you can bear it.’

‘Continue, please.’

She gathered his hair with brisk, business-like fingers, so that it did indeed feel like his mother’s long-missed hands, taking him back…

‘What is it, Lindir?’ Arwen asked, seeing him slowly begin to relax. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I was an elfling. Naneth would get my younger brother ready first, while my sisters were braiding each other. Always, Naneth was silent as she worked our hair – if she spoke, it was to say, do not fidget, it will pull… so the silence was good and gentle. Her fingers as deft as yours, and she would finish swiftly and then speak to say, ‘there. So patient, today.’ She would press her hands to my shoulders and smile… so long ago, so long since they all sailed…’

‘Well, I think you have been very patient today, also. You are done.’

She had gathered all his hair up to the crown of his head and then made one thick central plait which fell down to his neck and pulled his face smooth, changing his expression. Arwen hoped it would change his mood, also.

‘How do you feel now?’

‘It was… alarming, but thinking of my family… it was not so bad.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. Now come, look at these.’ She crossed to the boxes and removed the lids. Lindir stared at the contents, bemused.

‘Hats, Arwen?’

‘Your hair is clean, braided by clean hands. The hats are clean. Wearing one of these will protect your hair – both from becoming tainted again, and from any accidental touch.’

‘I understand, now. Thank you. I will look.’

He had never worn a hat. He had covered his head with a hood, in rain or snow, but that was all. There had been no need.

Now, Lindir selected a dark green hat, velvet, with a bronze trim. It was a loose thing, with a flat crown and a soft brim, and Arwen helped him, showing him how he could tuck the braid inside the crown and entirely cover his hair.

His reflection looked strange, transformed, his eyes appearing huge now all his hair was hidden, the hat altering his appearance so much that he doubted even his Naneth would recognise him… but it felt as if a weight was beginning to lift from him, at last. 

He turned to Arwen with what might have been a smile.

‘My lady, I do not know how to thank you! This – this helps so much…’

Arwen smiled so hard that she dimpled.

‘I am truly glad to hear it. Now, somewhere there will be cloaks to match the colour of the hats, for that is the way of the people here. I will have the cloaks fetched. And may I bring in my brothers?’

‘Yes, of course…’

‘You see, if they wear hats too, you will feel less conspicuous…’

Arwen opened the door and called, and soon her brothers – and Glorfindel – had joined them in Lindir’s room which started to feel a little cramped.

‘So, it is all settled, you will stay at the House of the Fellowship and it will be prepared for you by tonight, Glorfindel. You can go across after dinner. My brothers will stay here, but Erestor may wish to go with you… and here are hats for you all, will one of you tell Erestor to come?’

‘Arwen!’ Elladan protested. ‘Hats! I do not wear hats! I wear helms or hoods, but I do not – elves do not…’

‘You do now, Elladan!’ Arwen said briskly. ‘Pick a hat. You, too, Elrohir… do not grumble!’ she added, and Lindir found himself smiling at her tone. 

‘There are none here suitable… Lindir has got the best…’

‘Well, never mind. I will make you one if you do not find one there you like…’

‘Make one…?’ Elrohir echoed.

‘Or have you forgotten that some time ago I discovered a certain talent for crochet work? You choose, one of these… or one of my own making. I think I may even have some bells left, somewhere…’

‘I think this burgundy one would look quite well,’ Elrohir said hastily.

‘I like the dark brown one,’ Elladan said, snatching a hat quickly from its box.

Glorfindel grinned and sauntered past the remaining boxes. 

‘I see a dark blue which Erestor might like – or he could have the black one. But this is the one for me. I already have a tunic in this shade.’

He lifted out a mid-blue hat, of similar style to Lindir’s, but he put it on and tilted the crown and wore it with a swagger and his golden hair showing beneath it.

‘It is my colour, after all. You know, we may just start a fashion.’

Elladan looked glumly at his own behatted reflection.

I doubt it,’ he said.


	16. Bad Dreams in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir, Erestor and Glorfindel move into lodgings in the city. But will Lindir find it any easier there than in the palace?

The House of the Fellowship, as it had become known throughout the city, was a tall and elegant house on five levels. It had six bedrooms, two to each of the top three floors, two of which had balconies and a further two which were built into the rock of the mountain behind.

There was a basement kitchen, and two sitting rooms on the floor above, a staircase between and the bedrooms arranged off these stairs on the various levels.

‘If I might have the balcony room on the first floor,’ Erestor said after they had been shown around and the servant had gone, ‘then perhaps you and Lindir would like the floor above, Glorfindel? The doors to the rooms open opposite each other.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say so before we sat down in the parlour?’ Glorfindel grumbled. ‘Let’s have another look, then!’

‘Those very old bones of yours feeling the stairs, mellon-nin?’ Erestor asked.

Elladan and Elrohir, who had come along to take a look at the house, laughed, and even Lindir smiled.

‘Yes. I fear I am not as young as I used to be…’

After examining the second-floor bedrooms, Elrohir led an expedition up to the top floor.

‘The view is far finer from here, Glorfindel!’ he called down. ‘One of the rooms has a balcony, and its door opens opposite the rock-backed room…’

Glorfindel stayed on the landing beneath. 

‘But there is no bathroom on the top floor,’ he objected. ‘And as well as old bones, I have an ancient bladder, also…’

Lindir eased past him and made his way up to join Elrohir.

‘The view is indeed very fine,’ he called down. ‘I am sure I can see all the way to Osgiliath!’

Grumbling, Glorfindel hauled his ancient bones up to the top floor.

‘Yes, it is a view, and very fine. But I happen to know what Osgiliath looks like, and the view is almost as good from the floor beneath…’

‘There is no balcony on the floor beneath.’

‘Did you want a balcony, Lindir?’

‘No, indeed; I thought I would like one of the rooms at the back of the house, where the rock can be seen arcing over…’

‘Well, and I do not want a balcony either.’ Glorfindel began to make his way down to the sitting room, the others following. ‘So that is settled, then; we on the second floor, Erestor on the first, and if these noisome twins decide they cannot bear their sister’s company, they can take the top level.’

‘No, she wants us back tonight,’ Elrohir said. ‘But we’ll come to see you, bright and early.’

‘You two? Up early when you don’t have to be?’ Glorfindel raised an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘That will be the day!’

‘Ah, but we do have to be,’ Elladan complained. ‘She has said we must go riding with her. Before breakfast.’

‘Then you had better be off,’ Glorfindel said. ‘And a good night to you both!’

The twins exchanged farewells with Erestor and Lindir and wandered off towards the palace. Before they had gone more than a few paces, Elladan reached up to snatch the hat of his brother’s head, and Elrohir protested and returned the favour.

Once the twins were out of sight, Erestor made a point of fastening and locking the door, shooting home the bolts top and bottom before coming to take a seat by the fire and remove his own hat with rather more care than he had seen the twins use. He saw Lindir watching, saw the minstrel’s throat constrict and he realised Lindir was reluctant to remove his own headgear. 

He decided it was better not to comment.

‘It has been a strange day,’ he said. ‘If either of you wish to retire, I think I will sit by the fire for a little while.’

‘No, I’ll haul my old frame and my saddlebags up to my room, I think,’ Glorfindel said. ‘My ancient bones have a sore need to be horizontal.’

‘I’ll say goodnight also, Erestor,’ Lindir said. ‘I will make sure Glorfindel’s old bones do not give out as he is climbing the stairs…’

‘Ha! I think I have the strength to claw my way up two flights of stairs… although if you had not compelled me to visit the top level for the sake of the view…’

He kept up his grumbling banter until they gained the landing outside their rooms. A lantern burned outside the washroom, and more lanterns illuminated the bedrooms.

‘No getting up in the night and trying to wash your hair in cold water in the dark, Lindir, do you hear me? You might hurt yourself. Or wake me up, which would be worse.’

Lindir tried not to let his smile look sad.

‘My hair still feels clean,’ he said. ‘I will not.’

Glorfindel left his door wide open.

‘I can’t see you from my bed, but you know I’m here. You know I’ll hear if you need anything.’

‘I know. Thank you, Glorfindel. I will be fine. Good night.’

Alone in his room, Lindir unpacked his saddlebags and changed into sleepwear, taking care not to remove his hat. Perhaps it was silly to even consider sleeping in it, but while his hair was covered he could believe it would stay clean through the night.

The bed was comfortable, the sheets cool and crisp and the wall of the mountain rose behind him, as solid and as reassuring as Glorfindel’s presence, and he lay on his side facing the door and slipped into reverie easily and unafraid.

*

The screams shredded the night, tore through the house. They went on and on, pausing only as the afflicted one took breath.

Erestor was already out of bed and reaching for his sword before he properly dropped out of reverie. His heart was racketing in his breast and he was trembling with dread even as the screams faltered, stopped. 

It took him a few moments before his breathing slowed and calmed, before his nerves began to settle. By now he could hear voices from the floor above, and while there had been something so dreadful, so primal in the screams that he wanted to go and see for himself that Lindir was safe, he decided that the morning would be time enough to enquire after the minstrel.

* 

Lindir started out of reverie with a gasp. He had been in reverie… it had turned into a dream, a dream in which his abuser had not been Briot, but a man with dirty fingers… Thank the Valar he had woken before it reached the point where he usually woke screaming…

Screaming. Was that what he sounded like?

The sound battered at him, broke his heart, ripped piteously into his fëa. 

‘Glorfindel!’

He jumped out of bed and hurried across the landing into the seneschal’s room. His friend was still deep in reverie, his eyes glazed, his head raised, the tendons on his neck standing out like cords as he screamed and yelled and drew breath to scream again.

‘Glorfindel! Wake up!’

Lindir stood at the foot of the bed and pushed at the mattress. Only a fool would try to touch Glorfindel of Gondolin when he was in reverie. A fool, or someone with a death wish…

‘Glorfindel!’ Lindir shouted again. ‘Mellon-nin, wake up!’

His words, his pushing at the mattress to shake the bed had no effect. Knowing it was probably dangerous, but also knowing he couldn’t let this go on, he grabbed Glorfindel’s arm with both his hands.

‘It is I, Lindir, you are safe! Safe! Wake up, my friend! Be calm!’

Glorfindel snatched his arm away, the motion and the contact bringing him abruptly into the now. He bent his head, shaking and gasping for breath so that it sounded almost as if he were sobbing.

‘You’re safe, Glorfindel. It was but a dream, a memory, perhaps. You are safe.’

The warrior shook his head and looked at the figure now perching on the side of the bed. An elf with frightened, brave eyes, wearing only sleeping shorts and a hat, staring at him.

It would have been ludicrous but for the terror that was only just beginning to subside.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘I was having a bad dream…’

‘And I didn’t hear and you had to come to wake me? I am sorry…’ Glorfindel stopped. ‘No, that is not right… I was… I… was that noise me?’

‘Are you all right? I was worried… if this is a result of helping me, of revisiting your own experiences for my sake, and if such has caused you to dream, Glorfindel, then do not help me any more… I could not bear to think it my fault…’

‘Ai, it is not that, mellon-nin!’ Glorfindel exhaled heavily. ‘It is this place… there is something about the White City, the houses… I do not know why, but it minds me of Gondolin’s fair walls… and that may be the reason, but I dreamed my death again.’ 

He pushed himself up in bed and swung his legs round so he was sitting on the edge of it, burying his face in his hands for a moment as he tried to still the tremors that still coursed through him. 

‘You have never heard me tell the tale of how I slew the Balrog, have you?’

Lindir shook his head.

‘There was no need; I had heard the story all my life; as a minstrel it is one of the great tales one is expected to learn early in one’s career… and by the time we had met, I felt you had, perhaps, told your story enough for comfort.’

Glorfindel snorted.

‘That is one way of putting it! There are only so many times, mellon-nin, that you can recount such a thing… and it haunts me, still.’ He shrugged. ‘It makes a change from my other demons, I suppose. But you can see how it left me.’

The seneschal spread his arms in a gesture of display and Lindir found himself staring at the Balrog-slayer’s torso. He had never noticed before, not being one to stare, but now, at Glorfindel’s words, he felt compelled to look.

Glorfindel’s body was a tracery of slender white scars and pink streaks and stripes. Across his back, his chest, over his shoulder and around his arms, showing up in stark contrast to the soft creamy peach of his natural skin tones.

‘In their wisdom, the Valar saw fit to send me back still bearing the marks of that last day’s battle. My scars are a testimony to my courage and my strength, they say.’

‘And the ‘they’ who say these things, is it any of their business to comment?’ Lindir asked.

Glorfindel found, to his surprise, that he was laughing.

‘You know, it generally happens that the first time someone sees my marks of battle, they say something…?’

‘I see. Well, I would not wish to disappoint you…’ Lindir said, and instead of seeking a comment to show how much he recognised Glorfindel’s bravery, instead spoke his honest thought. ‘Did it hurt?’

Glorfindel gaped at him.

‘Yes. Yes, Lindir, it did hurt. It was possibly the worst pain in the history of Middle Earth, although there are some who claim childbirth would trump it any time… and I felt the lash burning and the terrible heat and the flames everywhere, the skin sloughing off my bones…’ He shrugged. ‘To give the Valar their due, they did at least restore me to pretty much my former physical self. These…’ He indicated the scars again. ‘These are representative of the Balrog’s whip. Although the other scars, the sword and knife and arrow marks, those are properly my own… Ai, I need a drink!’

‘I saw a bottle of spirits downstairs. Will you be all right while I fetch it?’

‘I will be fine, don’t start worrying about me!’

*

Erestor heard Lindir’s light step on the stairs and followed him down to the parlour.

‘Lindir? Is anything amiss?’

‘Did I disturb you? I am sorry! I had a bad dream…’ Lindir picked up a decanter and glasses from the side table. ‘And I am looking for the spirits…’

Erestor sighed and took the decanter from his hands.

‘I know you are struggling, mellon-nin, but strong liquor is not the answer…’

‘I realise that, but…’

‘…you would do much better to talk about your feelings, even if it is uncomfortable for you… if you need an impartial listener, Lindir, I will offer my time gladly…’

‘Thank you, Erestor. You are most kind. But…’

Footsteps on the stairs. Glorfindel had shrugged into a shirt and leggings and entered the room.

‘Lindir, did you find the…? Erestor. Are we having a party?’

Erestor set the decanter down.

‘Hardly. I was simply…’ He paused. ‘It does not matter. I am going back to bed.’

‘Will you not join us in a glass?’ Glorfindel asked, pouring the rich, golden spirits into two glasses, hovering over a third. ‘The more you drink, the less that will be left for me, of course…’

‘Then how can I refuse?’ Erestor lifted an eyebrow as he took a glass and sat down in front of the embers of the fire. ‘And as we are together, without the benefit of Elladan and Elrohir’s dubious input, perhaps we may talk, Lindir, as your concerned friends… you must know that we wish only to help but tonight you sounded so unlike yourself…’

Glorfindel took a huge gulp of spirits.

‘That’s because ‘twas me yelling, not Lindir’ he said, hunkering his shoulders down. ‘It’s having all this rock around me… there is stone in Imladris, I know, but it is all so very light and fine there, it is not as weighty, somehow…’

‘You? Forgive me, Lindir – I beg your pardon… but you said you had a bad dream?’

‘Indeed so. Glorfindel woke me from it.’

‘I think I understand how…’ He sipped at his glass and set it down, getting to his feet and clasping Glorfindel’s shoulder in passing. ‘I am sorry, mellon-nin. I had thought your own darkness behind you.’

Glorfindel shrugged and found a smile.

‘It comes and it goes, mellon-nin, as is the way of such things. Goodnight.’

Lindir and Glorfindel sat in silence for a few moments, Lindir nursing his drink, Glorfindel topping up his own glass two, three times. 

Finally, the golden-haired seneschal sighed.

‘This will never do – the famed Balrog-slayer drinking himself to oblivion because he was scared to go to bed!’

‘If you would, Glorfindel, I find… would you let me bring my bedroll into your room, and put your back against mine?’

‘Really?’ Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘After this you think I’m a fit person to watch your back?’

‘I thought we were watching each other’s backs.’ Lindir set down his glass. ‘I will go up.’

When Glorfindel followed two more glasses of spirits later, Lindir was wrapped in his bedroll on top of Glorfindel’s bed. He shrugged, and got into bed, turning his back.

‘I have survived enough bad dreams, you would think, that I should be used to them by now,’ he grumbled. ‘But I find… I am not. My thanks, Lindir.’

‘I am glad you will let me help.’ Lindir looked over his shoulder. ‘And I am coming to learn, my friend, that dreams cannot hurt us, unless we let them.’

‘Yes. The trick is in not letting them.’


	17. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindr wakes without his hat...

Lindir had parted company with his hat during the night. 

He reached for it and sat up, shaking it out and was about to put it back on when he paused. No, he didn’t need it now. Not in the house.

There was no visible sign of Glorfindel in the room, but his voice could be heard from downstairs, alternating with Erestor’s, the tone simply conversational, so Lindir slipped back to his own room to dress.

He glanced at the door to the washroom as he passed. He could wash his hair before he went down to breakfast.

If he wanted. No, not wanted… if he needed to.

But no, he didn’t want to… or need to… 

Not here, in this house.

He dressed, left his hat in the bedroom, and went down to join his friends.

Glorfindel glanced up and waved an easy hand at him, but there was a note of tension to the gesture Lindir couldn’t help but notice.

‘Is that how Arwen braided you?’ the seneschal asked with a shake of the head. ‘I can’t say I like it, myself…’

‘No?’ Erestor queried, his tone light, bantering. ‘It’s true the crown-worn single has fallen out of favour in recent decades, but I think it suits our young friend.’

‘Yes – my point, mellon-nin – it makes him look far too young!’

Lindir found an easy smile on his lips.

‘Ai, your poor old bones have left you out-of-temper! But forgive me – I should have more respect for your ancient condition…’

Glorfindel growled, but his mood had changed, brightened a little, and by the time the twins arrived bearing a basket of breakfast, the golden-haired Balrog-Slayer had thrown off whatever had been bothering him.

‘Have you two not eaten?’ Erestor enquired as Elladan unpacked the basket onto the table and Elrohir took a seat and prepared to help himself. ‘I thought you were riding with your sister after breakfast?’

‘Before breakfast,’ Elrohir corrected. ‘And we only had time for a morsel before we were asked to bring yours up.’

‘And so, of course, the exertion of the walk has left us hungry again.’

‘But you are all invited to lunch today.’

‘Ah.’ Erestor said. ‘We have not yet discussed our plans…’

‘In the gardens,’ Elladan explained. ‘Arwen says it’s a lovely day for a picnic. She was quite insistent.’

‘Reminded us she’s queen now, and everything.’

Lindir took a seat at the table and reached for some fruit.

‘I think I should like to go, if you and Glorfindel are busy, Erestor,’ he said. ‘Arwen was very kind yesterday. I would not wish her to think she was unable to help me. The gardens, you say?’

‘You know where the music room has those big wide doors that open out onto the terrace and there’s a big lawn at the back? There, I think she said.’

Elladan looked to his twin for confirmation. Elrohir shook his head.

‘Down on the lawn itself, near to the lake.’

‘It is not big enough to be a lake; there is barely room for two or three ducks,’ Elladan said, in what was obviously a continuation of a previous argument. ‘You cannot call it a lake unless there is room for boating.’

‘I’ll let you tell that to Aragorn’s landscape gardener, shall I?’ Elrohir grinned. ‘It is too deep to wade, therefore it is a lake…’

Under cover of the twin’s lively banter Lindir noticed Erestor watching Glorfindel. The seneschal had loaded his plate and was making determined inroads into his breakfast, attacking it as though it were an enemy, his shoulders hunched. Perhaps it would do Glorfindel good to get out into the open spaces of the palace gardens.

He turned his own attention to the food on his plate. It seemed to him there was too much of everyone each looking at the other to make sure all was well, and not enough talking and enquiring. He thought it would probably be easier to just ask.

But the first person to ask was Arwen, when they arrived at the palace the hour before the noon meal. She was wearing a hat made of straw and trimmed with ribbon and flowers and her eyes went to Lindir’s be-hatted head before glancing away.

‘Greetings, all. Lindir, how are you? Glorfindel, that hat suits you quite admirably… Erestor, hello! Come, we are all set up and ready in the garden…’

Under cover of her welcome it was unnecessary to do anything more than nod and smile, but once they had taken their seats – around a pleasant table looking out across the garden towards the pond-with-delusions-of-grandeur the Queen of Gondor nudged Lindir gently with her shoulder while the others were distracted by the twins.

‘Really, mellon-nin? You look better, but are you?’

‘Thank you, yes. The House of the Fellowship is pleasant but the walls are close, I think. I rested well and… and I have not washed my hair today. I only put on the hat when we were leaving and I really do not feel so fearful of your home today…’

‘Well, that is progress indeed!’

He cast his eyes downwards.

‘I am sorry. That sounds impolite; your home is lovely; it is just…’

‘It is just one of our unwelcome guests that puts you off!’ She smiled understanding. ‘I think Aragorn is in discussions as to whether there is a very secure jail elsewhere in the city that could be put to use. Would that help?’

‘My lady, I am not sure whether it would, in truth; I would not know where he might be… but I am determined to overcome this, he was not… he did not…’ Lindir sighed and shook his head. ‘He was but a reminder of what came after. Himself, it was unpleasant… I know I over-reacted, and I know it was because of what followed. I am trying to rationalise my experience. But it is hard.’

‘Well, I think you are being most courageous, Lindir. Tell me, have you worked any more on your beautiful song?’

‘The words, the sentiment are there. But shaping them so that the sounds dwell in harmony amongst the music, to ensure each improves the other… I think it will take a little time.’

‘Indeed, I am sure a little time will improve many things for you.’

*

Talk turned to other things over lunch, and Lindir found himself relaxing, smiling at the joking of the twins, enjoying the light bickering between Erestor and Glorfindel about the latter’s ancient bones. Arwen smiled and teased her brothers, playful and laughing.

The day grew warm under the sun, and almost without thinking, Lindir removed his hat and set it down.

‘Thank the Valar for that!’ Glorfindel said, casting aside his own headgear. ‘I was thinking I would start to melt beneath the weight of all this velvet!’

Aragorn hailed them from the terrace, heading out to join them. On his head was a wide-brimmed black hat that made him look vaguely rakish. On joining them, he shrugged and took the hat from his head. 

‘And I had thought we were starting a new fashion in the city! Oh, well… at least I have a hat, should I need one.’

‘Sit, eat,’ Arwen said. ‘You are late. I thought you were not going to join us.’

‘Matters of court. Done now.’ 

Aragorn took his place and began to eat. Arwen looked at him fondly for a moment before turning her attention back to her guests.

‘I wondered whether you had discussed how long you will be staying in Minas Tirith?’ she asked, trying for a casual tone. ‘I had not realised how much I had missed those two scamps!’

‘Those two scamps, as you name them,’ Aragorn said around a mouthful of pie, ‘are considerably older than you, my love!’

‘The difference is, that they do not act as if they are!’ she said with a sniff. ‘The point is, I have missed their ridiculous behaviour. They could stay until after matters are settled with the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds, could they not?’

‘That is months away, Arwen,’ Aragorn protested. ‘Not that our guests are not welcome here… but it is a long time. I doubt your father could manage without his chief advisor for so long. Nor his seneschal. Or Lindir, for that matter.’

Elrohir broke off his argument with Elladan and stared at his brother-in-law.

‘But you don’t mention us? Adar can spare us, you think?’

‘He will probably be glad of the peace and quiet!’ Aragorn said, and sighed. ‘Arwen, if you want your brothers here, if you and they think Elrond will not object, then of course…’

‘Could you bear with us for a little while?’ Erestor asked. ‘We have not really given much thought to the length of our stay. There is much to consider, after all.’

‘What, such as a nice, peaceful ride home without the constant wittering from yon charming companions?’ Glorfindel said with just a hint of a growl. ‘Although they do help with the horses…’

‘We’ll discuss it later,’ Erestor said hastily. ‘Just at the moment, I would like to enjoy my lunch in peace.’

In fact, they all enjoyed the food and the company and the pleasant air of the gardens, so that it was quite late in the afternoon before Glorfindel stretched and got to his feet.

‘Our thanks for your hospitality, my lady. It’s time we were heading back.’

Erestor also stood. 

‘We’ll bring your breakfast tomorrow,’ Elladan said.

‘And help you with it, if you like?’ Elrohir added. ‘Lindir – are you forgetting something?’

Lindir picked up his hat from the table.

‘I think I will carry it. At present, I do not need it.’

*

It was true.

He did not need the hat all the way up through Minas Tirith to the House of the Fellowship, he did not need it when he went inside. Glorfindel suggested they eat at one of the local taverns that night, and Lindir agreed without hesitation, and found he was quite happy to walk through the streets and eat in company with his friends in a room full of strangers bare-headed without a qualm.

‘So…’ Glorfindel stretched his legs out under the table and took a healthy swig of wine from his glass. ‘How long are we staying in the White City, then?’

‘I don’t want to stay months,’ Lindir said doubtfully. ‘But I find myself no longer desperate to leave.’

‘If the twins want to stay, then we could leave in a few more days,’ Erestor said. ‘It would be ill-mannered to go too soon. But if our friends are willing to come with us, perhaps we ought to stay longer…’

‘Elrond will want to send representatives down for the signing of the treaty anyway. We could end up coming back all this way again… no, I’m not suggesting we stay here until then, Lindir… in fact, I’d be happy to set off home sooner rather than later…’

‘Of course, once he knows what could have befallen his sons, Lord Elrond may not wish to send anyone,’ Lindir said softly.

‘What?’ Both Glorfindel and Erestor stared at Lindir, but it was the seneschal who spoke. ‘Never mind what could have happened to them, what about what did happen to you?’

He paused to refill and empty his wine glass. ‘Don’t forget your own worth! It could be, it might be he wants to send an army… in which case, I’m almost tempted to offer to captain it for him.’

Lindir shook his head.

‘No, mellon-nin, I am not discounting my own worth… I am simply trying to… to move on, to put this all away.’

‘Well, I suppose I understand…’ Glorfindel shrugged and tipped the last of the wine into his glass. ‘What say we sleep on it, so to speak, and ask the twins what they want at breakfast tomorrow? When Arwen isn’t in earshot. It may be they don’t want to spend the next half year here anyway.’

Back at the house, Lindir helped Glorfindel up the stairs; the seneschal had been swaying slightly, lurching as if on board ship, all through the streets, and the minstrel’s steadying hand was not rejected.

‘I thought I might bring my mattress into your room tonight, if you don’t mind?’ Lindir asked. ‘I don’t want to crowd you, but…’

‘You’ve been ver’ courageous today,’ Glorfindel said with an emphatic nod and just the hint of a slur. ‘So it’d be a shame to spoil it. Certainly, mellon-nin.’

Twice in the night Lindir was startled out of reverie, but it was by snores rather than screams, and his own rest was peaceful. Perhaps this was the way forward, to put trying to help someone else above his own fears? Perhaps it was but a respite, but if so, it was welcome.

Lindir took it as a good sign when, next morning, he was able to unbind his braid and wash his hair… and stop at just the one washing, and not feel the need to cover his head again. The twins, arriving with food, stared and teased, saying they had quickly got used to him with his hair pulled away from his face.

‘Now you look much less like Erestor,’ Elrohir said. 

‘And much more like Lindir,’ Elladan added.

Erestor sniffed. 

‘There was either an insult in there, or a compliment,’ he said. ‘I am not quite sure which. So. Having taken thought to how long we will stay in the city, we wished to ask you what your preferences might be? I know you are fond of your sister…’

‘Our horses can be saddled and fetched as soon as you’re packed,’ Elladan said.

‘We stowed our gear ready before we left the palace today,’ Elrohir added. ‘Just in case.’

‘What happened to staying at the palace until after the treaty?’ Glorfindel asked with raised eyebrows.

‘Did not you notice?’ Lindir asked. ‘It was Arwen asked if our friends could stay, not our friends themselves. We know you love your sister dearly,’ he went on.

‘But I am aware that that is not the point.’

‘She’s… not exactly odd,’ Elladan offered. ‘Well, no more than usual. But there is something different about her… she is very… motherly, of a sudden.’

‘And while that is all very well, I do not think either of us can bear it for more than a day or so.’

‘But we cannot leave so soon,’ Erestor protested. ‘It would be ill-mannered.’

‘Then what if we moved up here?’ Elrohir suggested.

‘We could take our meals at the palace, still spend lots of time with our sister…’ his brother put in.

‘Just not quite so much of it…’

Glorfindel began to laugh.

‘Come, Erestor, what’s the soonest we can politely leave?’

‘Please?’ Elladan added and, ‘Please?’ Elrohir begged.

‘If it would help, I do not mind if you claim it is because of me,’ Lindir offered.

‘That wouldn’t be right,’ Erestor said. ‘Two days more. I think that is reasonable? Particularly if you promise to return – perhaps for the treaty?’

‘You know,’ Elrohir said, ‘I think I’d rather spend an extra day or two here now than have to ride all the way back again in four or five months.’

‘Tempted to agree with you there,’ his twin said.

‘How lucky Arwen is to have such affectionate brothers!’ Erestor said, shaking his head.

‘Oh, we’re affectionate, all right. Just… not towards our sister…’


	18. Northwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the party ride for home.

In the finish they stayed another four days in Minas Tirith because a heavy storm blew in from the coast and dropped its load of wind and rain on top of the city, rendering the downward-sloping streets unpleasantly river-like and making the companions reluctant to leave the shelter of the town just yet. The twins continued on at the palace, taking the wet walk up through the streets with breakfast each day and still managing to spend plenty of time with their sister.

Glorfindel grumbled about the delay, and went to bed each night after rather more wine than was good for him, but it seemed to help his reverie be undisturbed.

Lindir, too, rested well, for the most part, the prickle and spatter of rain reminding him of inclement weather at home, comforting rather than unpleasant. In truth, he woke more than once to find his heart racketing and his breathing quickened in his chest, but in general the nightmares passed him by.

The rain blew away towards Osgiliath and the east, and they arranged to leave the following morning after breakfast, collecting their horses on the way down to the palace.

Arwen was very brave parting with her brothers, and they managed to disregard the trembling lip, the shining tears in her eyes, and not tease her about it at all.

‘Please give Adar my love, and I have a letter here for him… perhaps I should give it to Erestor though…’

‘What, don’t you trust us after all this time?’ Elladan asked, grinning.

‘You surely don’t think we’d peek, do you?’ Elorhir added innocently.

‘No, Elladan, and yes, Elrohir!’ she said with a trace of her old fire. ‘But I was meaning that Erestor is far more reliable than the pair of you are ever likely to be!’

‘I will be glad to take care of it for you, my lady,’ Erestor said. ‘And our thanks for all your kindness. And, of course, for the lovely hats.’

She gurgled a laugh and shook off her sadness as Aragorn appeared to bid them farewell.

‘We have tentatively set the date for the signing of the treaty,’ he told them. ‘If any or all of you wish to attend, I think it would be an excellent idea to have a party of elvenkind in attendance. If not from Rivendell, then we would send to Lorien…’

‘Oh, I am sure my Adar will want to be come,’ Arwen said. ‘Especially when he reads the letter…’

‘Arwen,’ Aragorn said warningly, seeing the twins eyeing the folded missive with added curiosity. ‘Was that wise…?’

Erestor looked down his long nose at Elrohir and Elladan.

‘Do not even think of trying to steal this letter and peruse its contents!’ he said sternly. ‘I will know, and my retribution will be swift and determined… Aragorn, I do not know how wise it will be for us all to return given the circumstances… I am the only one who was not inside the palace building the night Lindir was retrieved, and without knowing how we would be received…’

‘Well, do think about it!’ Arwen said. ‘We have to reunite Lindir with his Kovalia, after all.’

There were hugs and handshakes and polite nods, and Glorfindel swung up into his saddle and waited for the rest to follow suit and they rode off down the streets and out through the gates and headed finally for home.

‘So… what do you think is in that letter, then?’ Elladan asked before they had ridden more than a mile up the road.

‘Possibly a diatribe on the appalling manners of twin brothers who do not treat their sister, sister’s husband, or senior elves of their own household with anything approaching the proper respect,’ Erestor suggested.

‘Oh, how can you say that?’ Elrohir protested. ‘We are both most terribly respectful of Lord Glorfindel’s senior bones…’

‘You watch yourself or you may find the senior bones in my fist connecting with the junior ones in your face in a moment,’ Glorfindel growled. ‘Either that or I’ll tell your Ada how sweet you looked in your hats!’

The weather was cool after the rain, but not cold, and they made good time, glad to have the option of staying at inns for at least a few nights before the necessity of camping arose once more.

‘Another three weeks and we should be home,’ Glorfindel said as they reined in outside one of the inns they’d used on the way down. ‘And not before time – the weather’s worsening.’

‘At least it’s real weather, our weather,’ Elladan said. ‘Proper rain and sleet. Not like that nasty foreign weather, all sandstorms and blowy, eh?’

‘I can’t say I fancy the passes if this cold snap takes hold,’ Glorfindel went on. ‘If we turn a little west we can head through the Gap of Rohan and up past the new Isengard; it will add time to the journey, though, another week or so.’

‘I have no objections. It will be easier on the horses, too,’ Erestor agreed. ‘If no-one objects?’

‘I think I’d prefer it,’ Lindir said. ‘To see more of the land, to take a different way home from our outward journey, it adds to the experience.’

‘Well said!’ Glorfindel raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You know, I think we might make a traveller out of you yet, Lindir!’

‘I would much prefer to stay a minstrel, I think.’

His opinion didn’t change much as they travelled west and then turned north. The weather turned crisp and cold for the time of year, and although as elves the weather didn’t cause them any real hardship, still Glorfindel grumbled and the twins ribbed him about his old bones feeling the cold.

Around their camp fire after their evening meal, while the others talked, Lindir worked, writing in a notebook by the flickering light of the flames.   
The others thought nothing of it at first, just Lindir working on another song, or a poem, perhaps his poem about Kovalia, but there were none of the usual pauses and eyes-looking-to-a-far-distance that usually typified Lindir, composing. Instead, sometimes he would seem to have no emotion at all on his usually-expressive face, almost as if he was trying not to connect too much with whatever he was working on. And he wrote constantly, doggedly for an hour at a time, only ceasing when either Glorfindel or Erestor remarked on the lateness of the hour.

After the third night spent in such a way, Glorfindel came to his side.

‘When are we going to hear this wonderful poem you have spent so many evenings working on, mellon-nin?’ he asked.

‘I do not think you will,’ Lindir said, setting down his pencil. ‘It is… it is my account of our journey. I realise Lord Elrond will have many questions about our trip and I thought… if I can write this, I may not have to tell it so often, so deeply. And I thought, if I began the account with the time when we left Imladris, by the time I reached the… unpleasant parts, I would be more used to the process of writing, that it might somehow diffuse…’

Glorfindel reached out and folded the notebook closed.

‘It is a brave thought,’ he said. ‘And I am sure it will help you overcome this. But perhaps it will not help now, and only make things better for later.’  
‘I am beginning to realise that, my friend.’

‘Still, there is this; you will be able to write about Kovalia. It is something to look forward to, maybe.’

This drew a shy smile from Lindir.

‘The more I think of her, the more I wish… but the more I fear I will not see her again. The miles are long between Imladris and the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds, longer than I realised on the way there.’

‘If you need help… that is, you do not, you are a minstrel, a word-smith… but if you get stuck… oh, Valar, Lindir! You know what I mean!’

‘I do indeed. Thank you.’

‘And if it’s going to be one of those nights… if you need someone to watch your back, I’ll be here.’

*

The miles passed from before them to behind them all the long way home and some three weeks after leaving Minas Tirith, the lands suddenly became familiar, homely, and the twins stood in their stirrups and cheered, and Glorfindel grinned, and even Erestor smiled as they splashed through the Ford of the Bruinen.

And Lindir pretended to be glad.

Glorfindel, however, was not fooled, and held back his horse to ride at the minstrel’s side.

‘Did you finish your journal?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Worried about seeing Lord Elrond again? Sorry, stupid question. Will you be all right?’

‘I will have to be.’


	19. Home, Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the travellers arrive home and Elrond greets them...

There had been singing in the valley as they rode through; light, thoughtless, laughing songs with lyrics about how impossible it was to go away and not come back changed. 

Lindir paled, and Glorfindel growled.

‘Peace,’ Erestor said. ‘You know how it is here, Glorfindel, when our hearts are not troubled, how easy it is to be trivial, just for the sake of seeming clever.’

‘They mean no harm,’ Lindir said softly. ‘Indeed, was I once not just as thoughtless?’

‘We’ll be at the House soon,’ Glorfindel said, and Lindir could not decide whether it was a threat or a promise.

*

Elrond and the remainder of his household were on the steps to greet them, smiling and glad, Elrond spreading wide his arms as he spoke the words of welcome and stepped forward to first embrace his sons. He would have moved on to bestow a similar greeting on the Glorfindel and the others, but his seneschal stepped away and bowed and Elrond, a little puzzled at this implied rejection of his formal show of friendship, bowed in turn with questioning eyes.

‘Mae govannen, mellyn-nin,’ he said. ‘We have felt your absence greatly amongst us of late.’

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have sent so many of us away, then, should you?’ Glorfindel muttered, only to have Erestor give him a swift dig in the ribs and a glare for his trouble.

‘Well, you will want to refresh yourselves, no doubt,’ Elrond went on, trying to recover his poise. ‘Wash away your travel stains, feel yourselves truly home. We will meet at dinner.’

He stepped to one side to gesture them in, placing a hand on his sons’ shoulders to enter with them last.

‘Oh, and Erestor? Are there any letters for me, perhaps?’ he asked, almost as an afterthought. ‘From Arwen, maybe?’

‘Indeed, my lord, I do have something for you.’ Erestor felt in the capacious pocket of his outer robes and removed two items; the still-sealed letter from Arwen… and Lindir’s journal, it having been given into his hands for delivery at just such a moment. He held up the journal, noting that Lindir’s eyes had slid away. ‘This is the most urgent, and should be read first.’

‘Yes? Thank you.’ Elrond’s face creased into a small frown of confusion. ‘This one? Really?’

‘Really,’ Glorfindel butted in, adding his voice to Erestor’s repeated assurance, not seeing Lindir’s flush. 

Elrond inclined his head and then turned to Lindir in an attempt to set right the strange mood of what should have been a happy reunion.

‘And you, mellon-nin, how was your journey? Did you enjoy your trip?

‘I… it is good to be home, my lord…’

‘Well, you must tell me all about it later. We have missed you. But are you quite well?’

Glorfindel stepped forward to put himself in front of Lindir as the minstrel shrunk into himself, at a loss for words.

‘A lot happened while we were away, not all of it fun and drinking, Elrond,’ the seneschal said. ‘We’re tired and dirty. Can we go and wash, please?’

A little taken aback and obscurely feeling that somehow his casual enquiry had somehow only made things worse, Elrond smiled and raised the letters in his hands.

‘A good idea, Glorfindel. I hope a rest and a bath will improve your mood. I’ll see you all when you’re rested.’

Erestor shot Glorfindel a dark look, shaking his head as Elrond walked away. Glorfindel shrugged, then fell into step beside Lindir.

‘I’m going to talk to the guard before I clean up,’ he said. ‘So, do you want to use my bathing room? It’s nearer than the public baths, and the water tends to be a bit fresher, too…’

Lindir turned to slowly look at him, and Glorfindel all but winced to see just how much of his haunted expression had returned.

‘Might I? But then, the public baths should not be too busy…’

‘Bound to be someone there this time of day,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Come on, you won’t feel much like making polite conversation, not after the journey we’ve had. It’s no trouble, you know.’

‘Then, thank you. I will.’

Glorfindel led the way to his rooms – ‘Far too big and fine for a warrior like me, but I do like having my own bathing room…’ - and showed Lindir where everything was, keeping his eyes and his mind on the business of towels and taps and soap before leaving him with a parting word.

‘I’ll be back in an hour or so. Feel free to wait for me, if you want. ‘

He swaggered out of his rooms, heading towards the guard room to catch up on events, shutting the door after himself.  
*

Lindir tried not to look too hard at Glorfindel’s room; it felt like prying. For all the seneschal’s sense of drama, for all the bells on his harness and his bright blue cloak, beyond the showmanship, Glorfindel didn’t really have a lot to show for his long and strange life. That he was an honoured, valued member of the Rivendell community was evident by the chambers’ size and in that it had one of the best views over the valley, as well as its private bathing room; there were very few chambers in Imladris with outlets from the hot springs.

But Glorfindel lived simply.

Rumour had it he also lived untidily, but at present, having been away, the room was neat and clean and free of dust.

Lindir picked up the towel Glorfindel had found for him; it was huge, the pile on it deep and soft, yet in the same drawer he had caught sight of much older, more threadbare towels. This one looked to have not even been used.

He made his way to the bathing room. The pool was small in comparison to the public baths, but it was deep enough to rise to the waist, the water constantly circulating, hot and smelling faintly of sulphur. Setting aside his garments he descended into the concealing water, unable to prevent a glance over his shoulder, not knowing what shamed him more; that he felt so uncomfortable in his own skin, or that he feared he might not be alone.

He felt the caress of the slight current on his skin with a mixture of dread and pleasure… he had to get past this. Had to. He was an elf, blessed with a graceful form, not spoiled or marred or – as Glorfindel was – marked out as different. He had never before felt shy of revealing his form, not before… and all the long journey down it had been necessary to be sometimes unclothed in front of each other, washing in streams, the call of bodily functions; nudity was not a problem, never had been, nor should be.

But he wasn’t nude, not now. He felt naked, and that was entirely different.

He tried to process his unease, to rationalise and pursue it with logic. But it always ended in images of Briot, tugging at the collar around his throat… technically he supposed he hadn’t, quite, been naked during the attack the… the rape.

Using the word was still hard but, somehow, although at first it had made all seem worse, it had begun to make sense, to shape his response. An attack, however violent, was a simple thing by comparison. It was not, usually, a violation, an invasion.

Legend had it that if an elf was raped, such a one would go straight to Mandos. But perhaps that was only if it was an elleth who was so violated. Or only if the act were committed by another elf. Certainly this piece of lore hadn’t been part of Glorfindel’s lecture, but then, they were expecting trouble from orcs and wild men and ruffians, not their own kind.

He had survived, though. He hadn’t gone to Mandos, he was still here, he had friends, he was still able to love. Still able to sing.

The water was nice.

Lindir stroked his skin with soap, began to enjoy his bath. He lingered for a while, washing and rinsing, and then decided he would wash his hair, not because he had too, but because it was simply in need of washing.

He was still in the pool when a sharp rap came from the outer door, followed by the sound of it opening, and Glorfindel’s voice.

‘Lindir? You’re still here, sorry. Take your time, I’m back early.’

‘I’m just finished…’ Had he been an hour in the water, then? He didn’t think so. ‘A moment…’

Quickly he dipped his head under the water once more to give his hair a final rinse and climbed out, bundling himself in the huge towel. It covered him from neck to ankles, and would have wrapped twice around him.

He reminded himself that he felt better, that Glorfindel was his friend, that there was no need to be ashamed of his body or what had been done to it, and that Glorfindel would understand and probably knew exactly what that felt like.

Taking a breath to steady himself, he went through to the outer rooms and saw Glorfindel had stripped to the waist, exhibiting his own scarred torso.

‘Thought it might help,’ the seneschal said with a shrug. ‘Maybe not.’

‘I know what you’re trying to do, and I am grateful. I did not know I had taken so long…’

‘Well, there was more than a little bit of mud to wash away, wasn’t there, mellon-nin? No, it’s me back early. Nothing much to report, apparently.’ He gestured to a pile of clean and folded clothing on the bed. ‘I thought you’d want properly fresh clothes, so I asked one of the maids to steal some from your room.’

‘That’s very thoughtful. I am grateful, thank you. For everything, I mean.’

Glorfindel grinned.

‘Even brought your hat from your saddlebags…’

Lindir smiled his slow smile.

‘I am not sure it will be appropriate for the high table…’

Glorfindel winked and reached behind him to produce his own bright blue headgear and wave it like a trophy.

‘Go on… I want to see Elrond’s face when he sees me in this… and finds out it was a gift from his darling daughter. I reckon I can probably bribe the twins to wear theirs, too… I shoved a note under Erestor’s door, you know, I think he quite likes his hat.’ 

He put down the hat and got to his feet, rummaging for his threadbare towel and sauntered towards his bathing room.

‘I’ll have a bit of a wallow, I think. Get yourself dressed, stay if you like, I don’t mind. We can walk down together, then. Or I can come to your rooms, I don’t mind.’

*

Erestor had barely time to unpack his saddlebags and glance at the note which had been pushed beneath his door when there was a knock and a polite, but insistent request that he present himself at Lord Elrond’s study at once.

Pursing his lips in silent protest at the tone of the summons, he inclined his head and obeyed.

‘What is all this nonsense, Erestor?’ Elrond demanded as soon as his newly-returned advisor had closed the study door behind him. ‘Read this first? Lindir’s travel diary? When there is such news from my daughter, you want me to be reading a… a diary?’

Erestor took a breath, marshalling his thoughts, reminding himself that Elrond was his employer and, although occasionally prone to bouts of idiocy, they were rare enough occasions these days for him to make allowances. Perhaps.

‘While it is true that I do not know the contents of Arwen’s letter, my lord,’ he began, ‘I do, regrettably, know rather more than I wish to of Lindir’s tale…’

‘Yes… his prose style is hardly on a par with his poetry, is it? Arwen writes…’

‘My lord?’ 

The icy disapproval in Erestor’s tone halted Elrond in mid-sentence. He looked up, and the smile faded from his face as he read barely-contained fury in his advisor’s eyes.

‘I assume you did not read all of Lindir’s account, my lord? You would hardly be smiling, if so, one would hope…’

‘I… I may have skimmed… a little…’

‘Hmm…’ Erestor drew himself up to look down his long nose at his employer. The fact that Elrond was seated while he was standing only added greater stature to his outraged dignity. ‘Did you, perchance… ah… ‘skim’ the passage where Lindir was taken captive and molested, while he lay bound and helpless in a wagon?’  
‘I…’

‘Or what about the passage where he was fastened into a chain and a collar and left a prisoner, shackled to a bed?’

‘Erestor, I… what…?’

‘Or the pages where he was raped?’ Erestor hissed. ‘And where he writes that he was grateful, that he lost consciousness and so did not have to endure all of it, did you skim that, too?’

Elrond could no longer even meet Erestor’s eyes.

‘Oh, sweet Eru!’ he whispered, suddenly grey-faced. ‘Forgive…! I thought it was going to be all… another night at an inn, spoke to the landlord, do not like the food… not… You must understand, my daughter… so this is why you wanted me to read this first? But… Oh, what did I say when greeted you, did I not ask if he enjoyed the trip? What will he think of me? Erestor, was he much hurt, as a result?’

‘I suggest, my lord, you re-read all Lindir has been able to record, perhaps with more attention this time. And do not say anything – anything – about our dress style when we arrive for dinner.’

‘Erestor? Is he all right?’

Erestor saw the remorse, the pain in Elrond’s eyes and took pity on his contrition.

‘No, not yet. It has been more than a week, however, since he woke us with his screams in the night. Progress, perhaps. Might I go now, my lord?’

‘Yes, Erestor. Thank you. I’m sorry.’

Once alone, Elrond turned back to the letter from his daughter.

_'Good news, Adar! You are to be a grand-ada! Yes, it is true, indeed, but I would not say to any but my husband before you, not even to my dear brothers… Poor Lindir has suffered greatly, please be kind to him. He does not, I fear, enjoy travelling as much as he had expected to…’_

Now, on this second reading, he began to realise the meaning behind Arwen’s hints. And, fortified by the positive nature of Arwen’s news, Elrond turned to Lindir’s journal once more. 

This time he read slowly, carefully, between the lines, even though he wished he did not have to, even though his throat closed and the saliva ran thick in his mouth as if he would vomit where he sat. The sad, quiet message of Lindir’s courage and his grateful acknowledgement of the anxious efforts of his friends to help cut Elrond to the quick, every line a further accusation of his guilt, even as Lindir exonerated him. For Lindir had not volunteered to go; Elrond had said it would be a good idea, and so Lindir had accepted the word of his lord.

And now this.

There was just one slight note of optimism; a woman, Kovalia, had somehow reached through to Lindir in his suffering, given him something positive to fixate on. No doubt Lindir, romantic poet that he was, truly believed, as he wrote, that he loved her… well, if he could hold on to that, it would bring him a measure of comfort while he healed…

Elrond had always known, of course, how brief mortals were. But it was only of late that he had begun to realise precisely what that meant, what that could mean for himself, for his daughter. He made a mental not that, while Lindir should not be discouraged from expressing his… feelings for this Kovalia, there would come a time when her mortality would need to be gently pointed out to him…

What, was there still more? Osgiliath, Minas Tirith – Lindir had tried to write a full account. Impatient at first, before he had penetrated the heart of the journal, now Elrond understood, and honoured him for it. And to read about his daughter’s happiness in seeing her brothers was a welcome antidote…

The mood of the journal darkened again as he read of Lindir’s encounter with the human who had mauled him… of course such an encounter would reawaken all the distress, possibly even make it worse…

Pity and sympathy welled up in him. For all his knowledge and intelligence, Lindir was an innocent at heart and to read his attempts at rationalising these events, at trying to recover from them, was humbling and uncomfortable… it sounded as if Glorfindel had been a stalwart friend.

Finally, it was done, the account finished, and Elrond gave thought to how best to help his poor, damaged minstrel. Not a summons to the study, that would never do. A quiet word, perhaps, after dinner. He would find a way to broach the subject without making matters worse; he was Elrond, renowned loremaster and healer, and if he could not find a way to help, no-one could.

Thus decided, Elrond turned once more to Arwen’s happy news.

But it had lost a little of its shine.


	20. Hall of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir plays the harp.

Lindir waited until he heard the splashing sounds that told him Glorfindel was fully occupied with his bath before dressing, grateful for the clean clothing. Soft, brown leggings and tunic over a cream shirt, all fresh from his wardrobe, all things that took him back to a time before he was… changed.

He ran the towel over his damp hair and finger combed it before putting in a swift, single plait to keep it out of the way.

From the bathing room, Glorfindel lifted his voice in a snatch of song that made Lindir shudder and be grateful he didn’t know more of the barrack tunes that the seneschal favoured. Picking up his hat, he made his way through to the outer chamber which served as a sitting room and office for the seneschal, and he took a seat where he could look out of the window at the second-best view over the valley.

Dusk was falling over Rivendell, deepening the shadows of the trees, falling into purple shadow on the side of the hills, turning the far cascades into silver.

‘Are you glad to be home?’ Glorfindel asked from the doorway.

‘I do not know yet. I am pleased not to be out in the wilds. But I have not been amongst so many people since Gondor.’

‘I know. I feel like that too, sometimes, first few days in from a trip.’

‘They will want us in the Hall of Fire, after. They will want music from me. If I tell them I have not practised, do you think they will hold me excused?’

‘I doubt it. There are so few good musical types left here, even an out-of-practice Lindir’s going to be better than, for instance… a practised me, for instance.’

Lindir smiled slowly.

‘We’ll stay close, Erestor and I,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Maybe the lads as well, if Elrond will leave them alone.’

He jammed his bright blue hat on his head without benefit of a mirror, and grinned at the minstrel.

‘You going to wear your hat, or what?’

* 

The dining hall was too full, even though Rivendell had fewer inhabitants these days. 

Lindir hesitated on the threshold.

At his side, Elrohir gave him a nudge.

‘Is my hat on straight?’

‘The hat’s fine,’ Elladan said. ‘It’s your head that’s tilted wrongly.’

‘If we are ready…?’ Erestor said sharply. 

‘Who put you in charge?’ Glorfindel asked. ‘Let’s just get on with it, shall we?’

‘And since when were you my commander?’

Elladan and Elrohir laughed at the pair of them and pushed forwards.

‘Come on! We’re famished. You two stay here and bicker if you want to, but let us through!’

The twins’ urgency succeeded, and the returned travellers entered the dining room in a little cluster. Somehow, Lindir was always in the middle of the group, forever surrounded, even when they took places at the table. As Elrond had fully expected to have his sons one on either side, this necessitated some rearranging of settings as they both took seats to his right, with Lindir next and Erestor and Glorfindel beyond. It made for a very inelegantly balanced table but, Elrond reflected, his sons and his friends were only protecting the minstrel and he found it rather touching to see their loyalty, even if it was a little worrying that they felt it necessary to so guard Lindir at his own table, in his own home.

But the meal passed pleasantly, and if Lindir was quieter than Elrond remembered, still, he did join in the conversation, even when Melpomaen, one of Elrond’s assistant healers, commented on their hats.

‘Indeed, we are hoping to start a trend in Imladris,’ the minstrel said. ‘Gifts from Lady Arwen. Although none of us suit the look quite so well as Glorfindel does.’

The seneschal grinned, and tilted his hat to an even more rakish angle.

‘We would have brought one back for you, Adar,’ Elrohir said. ‘But we left before Arwen finished crocheting it…’

Elrond paled. There had been a time when Arwen had delighted in making crocheted gifts for everyone, and these items were still remembered with dread by some of the recipients of the more unusual of her gifts.

‘I wouldn’t worry, Elrond,’ Glorfindel said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease just a little. ‘I’m sure she will arrange to have it messengered to you…’

*

After dinner had ended, Elrond led the way to the Hall of Fire. Lindir, rising from his seat to follow, felt Erestor at his elbow as he joined the exodus from the table.

‘Mellon-nin, you will have been missed. I am sure many will want speech with you; we will not be able to shield you all night…’

‘No, it is all right, Erestor. I will be all right.’

‘You could always go straight to the harp, if you don’t want to be talked to.’

But Melpomaen was already approaching with a shy smile on his face, and any chance Lindir may have had of retreating under the cover of music was gone.

‘Would you care to sit with us?’ the ellon asked, indicating a group of six or seven of his associates, already laughing merrily as only the elves of Rivendell could, the lightness somehow not quite sounding foolish against the backdrop of the elegant hall. ‘We would welcome your company, Lindir.’

‘Another time, perhaps.’ Erestor took it on himself to answer, seeing Glorfindel scowling them over to where he had established himself in a quiet corner. ‘It is odd to be amongst company after so long in the wilds.’

‘It must be so… forgive me… I had not thought. I have not travelled…’

Lindir managed a smile. There was something about Melpomaen that reminded him of himself, when he was younger and shyer.

‘Would you like to sit with us instead for a while?’ he suggested. ‘Your friends would not mind, I hope?’

‘Thank you. I would like to… if Lord Glorfindel would not object?’

‘I will go ahead and tell him not to,’ Erestor offered. ‘You will be most welcome, Melpomaen.’

He headed off, leaving Lindir and Melpomaen to follow more slowly.

‘There has been talk, while you were gone,’ the ellon began. ‘They say our lord will sail soon. A few years, a decade at most. So, many of us are now giving thought to whether or not to sail with him or to stay… it may sound foolish, but to me, it seems a very long way to the havens, and I do not know if I would not rather stay here, where it is safe…’

‘Melpomaen… there is no place that is safer than another. It is the people who are with you, who make you feel protected, they make you safe.’

Talk stopped as they reached Glorfindel’s corner. The seneschal tried to look welcoming as Lindir sat next to him, Melpomaen taking a stool on the far side of the table. Presently, as if it was accidental, Erestor moved to Lindir’s other side.

‘Lindir…’ Melpomaen began again. ‘I know you are not greatly travelled… I wondered if I might ask for your thoughts? Not as to what I should do – only I can discover that – but what is it like, being so far from home…?’

‘I have only made three journeys of any length,’ Lindir said. ‘The first brought me here, and was hard. The second was… exciting, I suppose. It was when Arwen was considering one of the sons of King Thranduil for husband… do you remember, Glorfindel, Erestor…?’

Glorfindel shook his head with a groan, and Erestor nodded, his mouth suddenly prim.

‘Of course, nothing came of it,’ Lindir went on. ‘There were dragons… and… and for the first time, I saw death walk amongst us. Elves, dead, of fire and poison… I… I sang for them, a special ritual the Silvans had, very beautiful, very sad… I did not much have the heart to travel, after that.’

‘Might I ask, then, why now?’

Lindir shrugged, the gesture sitting oddly on his shoulders. He had known someone would ask him something like this, and he had practised a reply.

‘It was an opportunity to travel to far lands and learn something of humankind.’

‘And the beds were hard, the beer was warm and the sun was hot,’ Glorfindel interrupted brusquely. ‘Lindir would have done better to stay home.’

Melpomaen dropped his gaze, abashed and confused at Glorfindel’s anger.

‘Well, it was not quite all bad,’ Lindir said gently. ‘I made a friend, and Arwen gave me a lovely hat.’ He smiled slowly. ‘And, I wrote a new piece of music. One day, it will be a song. I’ll play it for you, if you would like.’

‘Would you so?’ Melpomaen brightened. ‘They said you would not tonight – that you would be too tired…’

‘I feel I will never be too tired to play this tune. Come and listen, tell me if you like it.’

 

The harp had stood silent all evening; musicians played flute and oboe softly over the conversations in the hall but none had gone to the harp. Seeing Lindir approach, they finished their tunes and made way for him with smiles on their faces. One ventured to say: ‘We have missed your playing, Lindir.’

‘I may be a little out of practice.’

Lindir seated himself at the harp and it was like a reunion of old friends. His fingers silked the strings and they murmured in perfect greeting to him. 

For a moment he paused, filled himself up with the memory of Kovalia, and began to play.

The melody rang out, glittering, the harmonies built. Lindir found the tune, layered in the counterpoint, added a descant, wrapped it in chords, unaware that all other sounds in the hall had ceased, just his music and the crackle of the fire, and he lost himself so much in the song that he began to feel the right words shaping at last, and to fix them in his memory he sang them aloud, oblivious to the consternation on the faces around him as he finished with his double refrain:

_‘And that is why I think I am in love with Kovala, yes… I think I am in love with Kovalia…’_

…and stroked the strings silent.

There was hush for a moment and then murmurs of approval and praise began to rise around him. Melpomaen wiped his eyes and Elrond flicked a finger across his own cheek.

‘I think the fire must be smoking into the hall tonight,’ he said. ‘Lindir, that was astonishing. Such a beautiful thing, mellon-nin… quite, quite special.’

Lindir smiled, happy at heart, as he inclined his head in gratitude.

‘Thank you, my lord. I have merely tried to represent my friend Kovalia. It is she who is special.’

‘I begin to see, I think.’ Elrond gestured back to the harp. ‘Will you continue? The harp strings have missed your touch, I think.’

‘I have nothing else new…’

‘But anything you play will be welcome.’

Lindir inclined his head and turned his attention to the harp, filling the hall with music, losing himself in the melody. He played the melodies he’d heard in Lórien before moving on to his personal favourites and couldn’t help going through the melody of Kovalia’s song once more before stilling the music.

He sat up and looked round, not expecting praise, but usually somebody would say something when one stopped, put in a request, perhaps, a word of thanks. 

But the hall had emptied.

Almost.

In the dim corner, Glorfindel was still sitting, trying to retreat into the shadows, watchful, and Elrond was approaching with a kind smile on his face.

‘Lindir, I would very much like to talk to you, if you do not mind. About your journal.’


	21. Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond speaks with Lindir about his journal...

The minstrel’s hands had wrapped around the soundbox of the harp as if it was the only safe place in the world, Elrond noticed. He took a seat on the bench formerly occupied by Melpomaen and gave Lindir a moment or two to relax.

‘You know, I am a healer, as well as your friend. I would like to think there is nothing you could say that I cannot in some way help you with. But perhaps that is because I feel responsible, and helping you would ease my guilt…’

‘I… would prefer not…’

‘I understand. That’s why you wrote your account, is it not? So that you would be spared too much retelling? But, Lindir, this is a terrible thing you have endured and so far from home… and there are still questions I would ask. For your own sake, I need to know about your injuries, your recovery.’

‘You would not need to… to do this in the healer’s wing? To… I do not need to be examined….’

‘No, no of course not,’ Elrond said hastily, and slid along the bench just a little way so that he was fractionally further from the minstrel. ‘It would be much too late, now, to intervene with treatment – unless you are having any specific physiological problems…?’

Lindir shook his head, his eyes wide, frightened.

‘Well, then, it would be an unnecessary intrusion, and would only cause you distress, which is the last thing I wish, mellon-nin. But can you tell me, did you have any help? Was anyone able to advise you, to support you?’

‘Not… not immediately. But, yes. You remember when the darkness was over us, and bad things walked outside our borders, you had Glorfindel address the hall with a warning about what to do if… if this happened… I remember it so well, and it helped, I do not know how I could have borne it without the knowledge…’

‘Yes. At the time, I was uncertain… I had no wish to frighten anyone, but it seems it was the right decision.’

‘Glorfindel’s advice… I am sure I would have faded, but for him. He watched over me, my lord.’ Lindir remembered Glorfindel’s admission that he had suffered similarly, remembered also that the seneschal had said it was not common knowledge, and chose his next words with care. ‘He and Erestor, they knew by how… how I sat on my horse, what had been done. I think your sons guessed, too, but they allowed Erestor and Glorfindel to care for me that first night, knowing that I was already ashamed and distressed.’

‘And your injuries? Had you anything to treat your injuries with?’

‘There was a salve Glorfindel had in the medical pack. It was for my neck, my waist… where the leather had chafed, so I used that elsewhere, too. My neck took longer to heal than the other injury…’ Lindir lifted the hair from his neck to reveal a small patch of skin that was still scabbed and healing. ‘But this is the last of my physical hurts.’

‘In this kind of situation, Lindir, often it is the emotional and psychological damage which lingers. Talking will help with that…’

‘I do not see how; I have talked, and talked, and…’ Lindir broke off, his shoulders sagging. ‘I have bad dreams, still.’

‘It takes time. This is still very recent for you, and then, to read that you ran into one of the ruffians…’

‘It felt worse, somehow, in some ways. I do not know why… but…’

‘But you had been helpless, then, and afraid. And so the memory of that came back, and mingled with the other memories, and it set you back, I think?’

‘Arwen was very understanding,’ Lindir said softly. ‘She… she helped me feel clean again. Pure, almost. I am grateful to all my friends, but Arwen was so very good to me…’

‘She mentioned you in her letter. Now I understand why.’

Perhaps it was time to change the mood for a moment or two. 

‘She had other news, too.’ Elrond smiled, a confiding, proud smile. ‘She tells me something wonderful; there will be a child for her.’

‘I am very pleased to hear it,’ Lindir said, relieved that the attention was off him for the moment. ‘I noted that she was, perhaps, rather more affectionate with her brothers than they properly appreciated… and, perhaps it is fair to say, she did mother me, a little. I did not mind it, though.’

Elrond smiled again as he got to his feet, opening one hand wide in invitation.

‘Why do you not join me in my sitting room for a last drink?’ he said. ‘I would like to hear more about the lady in your song.’

‘Thank you... but I am a little tired…’

Lindir glanced over his shoulder. In the shadows, Glorfindel was still watching.

Elrond saw, sighed, halted.

‘Glorfindel, mellon-nin, would you care to join us?’ he said. ‘I feel there is more likelihood of Lindir agreeing, if you come too.’

‘Lead on, then.’ The seneschal left his place and came to join them. ‘I could do with a glass of that very good spirits you keep locked away.’

Elrond’s sitting room was a small and cosy room well away from the public rooms of the Last Homely House. It had large, overstuffed furniture and a bookcase full of well-thumbed tones, low tables and thick rugs on the stone flags. A sideboard against one wall held glasses and a selection of bottles filled to differing levels with darkly glinting liquids.

‘Sit, both of you, get comfortable.’ 

Elrond filled glasses and passed them around, noticing how his guests were seated, Glorfindel where he could watch the door and Lindir at his side. He chose his own seat with care, so that he was not too near the minstrel.

‘I liked your song, Lindir. It is new, obviously.’

‘Yes. I am still working on the words.’

‘So who is she, this Kovalia?’

‘I do not know, not for sure. I think – it seems as if she might be the one who leads the fiefdom. It is her brother who…’

‘It is known he wants to prevent her allying with Gondor,’ Glorfindel put in. ‘Unfortunately, he thought hurting Lindir was the way to go about it.’

‘She is a widow – young, for a human, though. And lonely. And she was kind to me… I am not sure if I conveyed quite how kind…’

‘You left a strong impression, mellon-nin. You will understand if I make sure she did not coerce you?’

‘What? No, she did not! I think she thought I was there for her, but when she saw I was bound, she was horrified. What happened between us… it was I who started matters. She was very generous. And I knew, not all was spoiled for me. It was important to know that I could love, still, in spite of everthying.’ He stared down into the depths of the liquid glinting in his glass. ‘I mean what I sang, you know. I do love her, even though she is human, and brief, and her brother is cruel.’

‘What do you wish to do about her, then?’ Elrond asked softly.

‘I know that love between humankind and elvenkind is fraught with difficulties… I know it is not wise… but still, I would like to find her again. I would like to thank her, to play for her, perhaps… except that is foolish; she might not want my song, or a reminder of that night.’

‘But if she was kind to you and you were kind to her, why would she not?’

Lindir shook his head.

‘Aragorn – King Elessar, that is – has agreed to the treaty,’ Glorfindel said. ‘He took quite a lot of persuading, after everything… but he asked if we wanted to send a delegation… Erestor would be willing, if you asked him, Elrond. He’s the only one of us who wasn’t in the palace.’

‘But was he not captive as well?’ Elrond asked.

‘True.’ Glorfindel grinned briefly. ‘They let him go – he wasn’t pretty enough.’

‘One could almost pity him,’ Elrond said. ‘Glorfindel, would you like another drink before you leave?’

‘Am I leaving?’ Glorfindel held out his glass for a refill. ‘In that case, I will.’

‘I would like a word or two with Lindir in private – if that’s all right, mellon-nin?’ he finished, turning to Lindir.

The minstrel hesitated for a moment and then nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’

Glorfindel downed the contents of his glass and held it out for another top-up. 

‘And I will take it with me and trouble you no more tonight, Elrond,’ he said. ‘I bid you good night.’

‘He will not go far,’ Elrond said softly as the door closed behind the Balrog-slayer. ‘Most likely he will be in the corridor when you leave, or on a bench in the Hall of Fire.’

‘He has been a good friend to me. In spite of everything, I now know I have good friends around me,’ Lindir said.

‘A harsh way to find out who your friends are. Lindir… I owe you an apology. I know it will do no good, not now… but I am sorry. I should never have encouraged you to go. I had hoped you would enjoy a change of scene, would find it interesting, and when I learned how you had been treated…’ he broke off, shaking his head. ‘I am so sorry, Lindir.’

‘It was not your fault, you were not to know. It was nobody’s fault, except… except the one who did it. Everyone wants to blame themselves, Glorfindel thought he had failed his watch. Erestor thought if he’d been less sour of face, he would not have been released and so could have helped me… I even thought it might be that I was to blame, at first. But I know differently, now.’

‘Good, that’s good. It can take some persons a very long time to realise that. It is an important step, Lindir, it is a good start.’

‘I feel I am mostly all right, now. Some things are hard, things I did not expect to be hard. To be amongst so many people as are here… I know many have sailed, there are fewer, I think, than when we set out… Loud noises startle me. Beards.’ He shuddered. ‘And although I am better than I was, I still… I feel uneasy if I think my hair might be touched by strangers…’

‘Well, there are no dwarves in Imladris at present, nor do I expect any; I think you are safe from beards.’ 

Elrond lifted his eyebrows as he smiled, inviting Lindir to share the joke, and was rewarded by Lindir’s slow smile back.

‘You know, although I want to help,’ Elrond went on, ‘I realise you might find it awkward to come to me. If that happens, if you need to see one of the other healers, I won’t be offended. I noticed you talking to Melpomaen tonight; he is young, true, but he is a good listener, and a very talented healer for one with so little experience.’

‘Thank you, my lord. I hope I will not need to trouble any of the healers…’

‘You would be no trouble, mellon-nin,’ Elrond assured him. ‘Now, you mentioned disturbed sleep patterns. I can get you a draught that will help you sleep?’  
Lindir shook his head.  
‘I am grateful, Elrond, but it is troubled dreams I have. The thought that I might not be able to wake from them… I would prefer not to risk that.’

‘I understand. Well, I will let you seek your bed, now; it is getting late. There will be a beautiful moon to look at over the valley, if you cannot sleep. And remember – if you need anything, you may send to me.’

Lindir nodded and set down his glass; the spirits within had hardly been touched, Elrond noticed; if anything, that was a good sign, perhaps.

‘Come.’ He ushered Lindir to the door, holding it open for him and following him out. There, sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, the outrageous blue hat tipped over his eyes, Glorfindel was taking his ease. ‘What did I tell you? Glorfindel, stir yourself!’

Glorfindel stretched and levered himself to his feet.

‘Do you know, I’m not sure I can find my way back to my chambers… think you can remember, Lindir?’

‘I’m sure I can. This way, I think.’

Elrond watched them go, the old war horse of a seneschal and the younger, presently fragile minstrel. An unlikely friendship, but if anyone could keep Lindir from despair, he thought, it would be Glorfindel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This November, I will be once more taking part in the creative insanity that is National Novel Writing Month, which many hamper the frequency of my updates. 
> 
> So, please, don't worry - I am not abandoning Lindir, who is, anyway, now back in the comparative safety of Imladris, but the updates may be slightly less frequent for a time.


	22. Plant, and Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir finds the kernel of the mesri fruit and wishes to plant it...

‘Your rooms are down here.’ Lindir paused at a junction of the ways. ‘But I think you know that.’

‘Of course I know that. It just looked like you’d had enough of Elrond’s trying to help.’

‘Sometimes, I think the kindness, the attention it draws to me, makes things worse. It is a reminder. And I do not mean you, or Erestor, or even the twins. Just… with people who are new to the knowledge.’

‘Yes. I know what you mean. Goodnight, then. Sorry I’m not near enough to knock on the wall if you need anything…’

‘I am sure it will be fine. Goodnight.’

But, of course, it wasn’t.

His room was almost as he’d left it – the servant who had fetched clothes to Glorfindel’s room for him had made sure all was neat, but his saddlebags were resting over the back of a chair, a reminder that he was just home from a journey.

Tired though he was, he unpacked, making sure the bags were entirely empty. And there, amongst the scraps of parchment with odd phrases of poetry or snatches of music notation, he found the tough, rigid kernel from the centre of the mesri fruit.

It felt weighty as he held it, heavy with more than just its dormant promise of life. It took him back to Kovalia, to her room, to the knife, to his rescue… and then sharing the last of it around the camp fire that first night.

He thought about how he felt now, compared to then, and he realised that, yes, he had come a long way on his journey of recovery. It was simply that he did not know how far the path would spread out before him.

Perhaps he would rest well enough; after all, it was his own bed, and when he had last been in it he had slept well…

*

He woke, wondering why.

There was a tapping at the wall, a pattern he remembered, how Glorfindel had knocked on the walls of the inn on the way home… what was the seneschal doing, checking on him? Why would he?

Then he remembered, he had been dreaming again. It had not got to the worst part, but it had begun to be unpleasant and he probably had been protesting aloud, if not shouting.

He tapped back on the door, and then went to open it.

Glorfindel was there.

‘I am fine, Glorfindel.’

‘Yes, you are now. Lots of empty rooms on your corridor, I noticed, probably a good thing. I think I interrupted before you actually started yelling the place down. Was it bad?’

‘No, not so bad tonight.’

‘Right. Well, I’m next-door.’

‘Thank you. But you know, I do not usually have more than one episode each night. Not lately.’

‘All right. You know, there’s plenty of space on my corridor now, as well. If you wanted to adopt a chamber nearby… don’t suppose Elrond would mind.’

‘I’ll consider it. Goodnight.’

When next Lindir woke, it was bright morning and a pale sun was doing its best outside. Dressing, he went to investigate the adjacent rooms, and found Glorfindel stretched out and still sleeping in the one to the left. He smiled, and went down to breakfast bravely alone.

Erestor was at the table still, his plate a litter of eggshells and fruit rinds, and he nodded a greeting as Lindir went to the dishes to serve himself, taking his plate across and sitting nearby.

‘Do you know whether you are glad to be home yet?’ Erestor asked, taking a small bite from a piece of toast.

‘I think I do… and, yes, I think I am.’ Lindir smiled and looked around him. ‘There is much to be said for the comforts of the familiar. As long as it does not become limiting.’

‘Wise words.’ Melpomaen spoke from nearby. ‘Good morning. May I sit with you?’

He looked to Erestor for permission, but it was Lindir he placed himself beside.

‘Have you plans for today, Lindir?’ Erestor asked.

‘I thought I might go for a walk; I wish to speak to the gardener. I found the kernel of the mesri fruit last night, I want to see if I might plant it somewhere in the gardens…’

Erestor pointed towards Melpomaen with his toast.

‘You could do worse than speak to our young friend here, instead. He knows more than our gardeners do about exotic plants. Do you not, Melpomaen?’

‘You flatter me, Erestor. It’s true I have made a study of such things, as part of my training… if I may be of help, I can certainly find the right gardener for you, Lindir. I have one or two things I must do first, but I would be happy to meet you presently near the back door…’

‘Thank you.’ He had wanted time to himself, really, but it would be impolite to say so. ‘If it will not interfere with your duties?’

‘The truth is that there are so few of us living here that most of my time is spent studying, any way. It will make for a pleasant change.’

So it was that after breakfast, Lindir went to his room to collect the mesri fruit kernel, and then found his way to the back porch where he had arranged to meet Melpomaen.

He saw something stir in the shadows, and was about to catch his breath when he realised – it was someone.

‘Glorfindel?’

‘Don’t mind me. Just wanted to be on hand in case you felt out of sorts. Lonely. You know.’

‘Indeed, I do not know what it is to be alone… I think perhaps Elrond has been having quiet words with people… this morning, I am going round the gardens with Melpomaen. Lunch will be in the hall, and no doubt Erestor will be there…’

‘Or me.’

‘Or your good self. This afternoon, I would like to be in my rooms, writing music, if I am permitted, and then after it is supper and the Hall of Fire… I feel my entire day has been mapped out for me.’

‘I found routine helped,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Time alone is all very well, if you can keep your mind on your work.’

‘Thank you. I think I can. But if not, I’ll seek a friend.’

‘Seek me, if you like. Your other friend is here.’

The seneschal stepped back into the shadows just as Melpomaen’s step was heard approaching.

‘Lindir? I am sorry to keep you waiting, I wanted to look in my books for the fruit you mentioned… I could not find it…’

‘It is a mesri fruit, and I understand it is rare, and grows in the desert regions.’

‘Really? What more can you tell me about it? Come, speak as we walk…’

So Lindir talked about the size of the fruit, its colour and rind, how it was heavy in the hand and sweet and juicy.

‘I saw no leaves on the fruit, and neither did I see it growing wild, not that I knew,’ he said.

‘It sounds rare. Tulusson will know.’ Melpomaen smiled. ‘It is a little way to his region of the garden. He likes big plants and wild things. He knows the name, I think, of every growing thing in the valley. But he is seldom at the house and is much less concerned with the name of its occupants, so do not be offended by his manners. We need to head up the valley about a mile or so.’

‘That sounds good, actually; I always like walking in the valley. I have missed it.’

‘It has not changed, much,’ Melpomaen said as he struck out along a path between a stand of pine trees.

‘To me, it seems very different,’ Lindir said. ‘But perhaps that is because I return more changed than I ever imagined.’

‘Because you are in love with the human woman in your song?’

‘That, too. Elrond speaks very highly of your work,’ Lindir went on, surprising himself. ‘He says if I need someone to confide in, you are one I can turn to.’

‘I am honoured. Does that mean there is something you want to share?’ 

Melpomaen slowed his steps, looked at Lindir with a more direct scrutiny.

‘Are you quite well, Lindir?’

Lindir managed a small smile.

‘I have been better, Melpomaen.’

‘We can sit and talk, if you like. And visit Tulusson another time.’

‘No. No, I would like to see this stone planted.’ He turned to Melpomaen, seeing concern and gentleness in his eyes. ‘And then, I will gladly talk to you.’

The air was cool and fresh, but there was an odour of age Lindir had never noticed before. It was as if time had suddenly come to the valley and imposed its rigour over the eternity there. But still, it was beautiful, serene, and calm.

After about half an hour’s meandering, they saw a gardener carefully pruning some of the half-wild plants, and Melpomaen hailed him.

‘Tulusson! Have you a moment to spare? My friend needs some advice.’

‘Oh? Then I would say, friend of Melpomaen, never run with scissors.’

Lindir smiled.

‘Sound advice indeed. But I have here the kernel of a rare fruit that grows in the far south, and I would like to plant it here, and wish to help it thrive.’

‘Well, generally speaking, plants want to grow. Seeds want to germinate, they are little boxes of life waiting for the right time. Let me see what you have, penneth.’

Lindir smiled at the appellation and handed over the kernel of the mesri fruit for inspection.

Tulusson examined the stone, smelled it, turned it over, tapped it against his teeth while Lindir told what he knew of it once more.

‘Tough little thing,’ Tulusson said. ‘Could go for years before it germinates, waiting for the right time. Sounds about right, though, desert lands, but with high passes. Try it in the side of the hill, south or west facing, somewhere dry and without much soil.’

‘Very well. But… I want it to have the best care, the best chance…’

Tulusson looked at him with a specialist’s kindly patience.

‘If you found someone wandering in the wilderness, who had survived on meagre pickings for a year or more, and you brought them home and laid a feast of rich food and wine before them, what do you think would happen?’ he asked gently. ‘They might be grateful, at first. But they would become ill, because it would not be what they were used to.’

‘I see. They would not thrive. And my mesri plant, it might not grow or survive in the wrong place…’

‘That’s right. Come, I’ll show you a good spot for this sort of shrub, and you can help plant it.’

Tulluson picked up his trug of handtools and passed them to Lindir.

‘Make yourself useful, then. Hear some of the household have been away.’

‘Indeed, I was one of the party; that’s how I came by the mesri fruit stone.’

‘Is that what you call it? Seems like an odd name to me, but if it’s from the south lands… well, you can never be sure.’

Lindir and Melpomaen followed in Tulusson’s wake as he led them along the valley to its more wild reaches. There, on a craggy hillside near a chuckling, busy stream, he pointed to a small pocket of gravelly soil.

‘Try it here. Shelter from the frosts, once it sprouts, but south-facing so it will get the heat of the sun all day. Just dig a little hole and stuff it in.’  
‘Thank you.’ 

Lindir took a trowel from the trug and slid it into the indicated areas, more rock than actual soil. It grated as he worked a little hole for the mesri stone to drop into, closing the rough soil over it afterwards. He felt as if he should say a prayer, or chant an incantation, or something, just to show it was important, but he feared Tulusson would smile kindly at him again.

‘Should we do anything more, Master Tulusson?’ he asked.

‘You can water it, if you like. From the stream, there… that’s it. Sometimes you just have to plant, and hope. But…’ Tulusson’s eyes crinkled. ‘I usually say a prayer to Lady Yavanna to have an eye to it for me.’

Lindir smiled and did as he was bid, watering around the planted stone. That done, he set down the watering pot, dropped to his knees and lifted his eyes to the skies before beginning a song of supplication to Yavanna.

_‘O Lady who cares for all growing things_  
 _Watch over this small seed_  
 _Planted far from home._  
 _Let the sun warm it_  
 ___The rain bless it_  
 ___The soil nourish it.  
 ____Let it flourish_  
 _For it is dear to me_  
 _Let it know the power of your song_  
 _And come forth to grow in beauty_  
 _Like to the one who gave it,  
_ _Far from home…’_

Lindir’s voice was deep and resonant, carrying clear around the valley, up to the sky, across the water, and when he had done even the spring was silent for a moment.

‘Well, you have a nice voice,’ Tulusson said presently. ‘Have you ever thought of becoming a minstrel?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for bearing with me during the last few weeks while I have been posting less frequently to this story. I hope to be back to weekly postings soon.


	23. Confiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir and Melpomaen talk...

Lindir and Melpomaen parted from Tulusson and made their way back towards the house, walking in silence, mostly, until they were in sight of habitation again.

‘We were going to talk, I think,’ Melpomaen said gently. ‘If you still wish it, I have a workroom attached to the healer’s wing. Thus you will be talking to a healer, and know whatever you say is in confidence.’

‘But I feel anything I say to you would be in confidence anyway, Melpomaen. And I think I do not need a healer as much as I do a friend.’

‘You honour me! Very well… I have chambers in the north wing, if you like. There will be a fire burning there, and the kettle on low. I know, we are elves, impervious to cold… but that does not mean we do not notice it.’

Melpomaen opened up his rooms and welcomed Lindir in.

‘Please, sit, be comfortable… I will set the kettle on fully and presently we will have a warming tea… may I take your cloak?’

‘My thanks.’ Lindir took a seat at the table near the window, looking out. The view looked up the valley and in the distance the Bruinen could be seen glittering and frothing in its course. ‘You have a pleasant outlook here.’

‘It is a strange thing, but there does not seem to be an ugly view from any of the windows in Lord Elrond’s house,’ Melpomaen said, swinging across the kettle on its hook at the edge of the fireplace fully over the flames to hasten its boiling. ‘Yet I think it is changing.’

‘I thought it was that I had changed,’ Lindir said. ‘Perhaps now the war is over and the power of the Three is fading, time is beginning to have more effect here.’

‘Perhaps. And yet I think Rivendell will be even lovelier in her melancholy beauty. To stay or to go… who can say which is right?’

‘Last night, I could have been more helpful when you asked my opinion of travelling. There was a reason… but I feel I was brief, when I should have been clearer. Melpomaen, I am perhaps not the right person to ask. Something happened while I was away and it has clouded my opinions…’

‘You fell in love with a human woman,’ Melpomaen said. ‘I can see that such a thing might have an effect…’

Lindir shook his head.

‘It is true, I did fall in love with Kovalia… but that was after…’

The young healer brought over a tray with cups and an earthenware teapot from which a spicy, fruity aroma was exuding.

‘Here. Winterberry and clove,’ Melpomaen said as he poured the tea. ‘It will warm you.’

Lindir waited for Melpomaen to take a seat before sipping at the tisane. It was indeed warming and sent a wave of comfort through him.

‘Something happened while you were away that caused you great distress; I can read it in the emanations from your fëa, mellon-nin,’ Melpomaen said. ‘Yet you seem outwardly calm, mostly, so it happened some little time ago, at least, since you have had time to begin to come to terms with it.’

‘To begin to accept, yes… but I am not finished, yet. I do not know if I will ever be finished with it… while we were gone, I became separated from the others and… and taken away, where I was… attacked… no, not attacked, that is not the word for it… a human, a man, he…’

Lindir told his story, laying it out for Melpomaen as clearly and concisely as he could, vaguely aware that something was different about the telling this time, something important, but what it was he could not yet say. All he knew was that he got to the end of it without weeping and he felt relieved and proud at the same time.

He watched Melpomaen’s face change, become concerned, saw the healer swallow more than once, as if simply hearing the tale was upsetting.

‘And I asked you about your journey in the Hall last night…’ the young healer said finally. ‘You were so generous with your time and in your reply, but it must have hurt you to have to do so…’

‘Yet I knew that by going to the Hall of Fire I was likely to be asked about the journey, that I would have to talk about the trip… I was unlucky, that is all; it was not my fault, I know that now. And I was surrounded by good friends, helpful friends… and I found Kovalia, too.’ Lindir managed a smile. ‘I cannot pretend being molested and raped was anything other than dreadful… but it is past. Only the memory remains, and that, too, will fade in time.’

‘It’s an impertinence, I know… but the healer in me… You have no lasting physical hurt?’

‘No, none. I still, sometimes, have bad dreams… but, I am learning to live with them, to accept each one as a sign that I survived it, that I am still here to have bad dreams, that I did not fade or give in to the horror of it. And, sometimes…’ Lindir smiled and dropped his eyes. ‘Sometimes, I dream of Kovalia, and that I do not mind.’

Melpomaen smiled in return.

‘What will you do, about Kovalia, then?’ he asked, pouring more tea. ‘Will you try to seek her?’

‘I do not know. I want to… but then, Lord Elrond has reminded me, she is human, she is brief… is it fair to her? Is it possible that what I feel is not really love, but… but gratitude, simply, that I was able to find comfort with her so swiftly after my ordeal? Romanticised, idealised, not a lasting, genuine emotion? And would she even want me?’

‘You are very fair, you know.’ The young healer reached out to lay his hand on Lindir’s arm for a moment. ‘And you are an elf, why would she not want you?’

‘Well, because I am an elf, she and I, we are different… we do not even speak the same language…’

‘Languages can be learned, mellon-nin. And as to whether or not what you feel is really love, what if it is, and you do nothing? As we have noted, humans are fleeting, and if you wait too long, you risk your happiness…’

‘This is true.’ Lindir sighed. ‘I lack the courage…’

‘After all you have told me today, mellon-nin, I doubt that,’ Melpomaen said.

‘Well, I will think about what you have said. There is talk of another trip to the fiefdom, in time to witness the signing of the document to put Kovalia’s people under the care of King Elessar. Perhaps, if the one who raped me is no longer there, I might join with the delegation, so that I can seek her…’

‘Yes? You know, if it were likely the party might need a healer, I would ask to go, too…’

‘It is not settled. But I think Erestor was considering the trip.’

‘Oh… I do not feel I know Erestor well, even now.’

‘He is a good travelling companion. He seems to know all the languages. And, when one gets to be in close company with him, one realises he has a keen and sharp sense of humour, often at Glorfindel’s expense.’

‘Lord Glorfindel seems to have appointed himself your protector,’ Melpomaen said. ‘I noticed him with you as you awaited me.’

‘Yes, he has become a close friend. I think he is in the habit, now, of watching my back. Perhaps he needs someone to spend time with; I believe many of his friends have already sailed.’

‘Some of my friends, too.’

‘Well, you have something in common, then.’ Lindir finished his tea. ‘Thank you for your help this morning, Melpomaen. And for listening.’

‘You are very welcome.’

‘Perhaps, if we are in the Hall of Fire tonight, you would care to join us? We can then all talk together about the journey south.’

‘If that would not be uncomfortable for you…’

‘It would be good for me, perhaps. I have been trying to think,’ Lindir said, getting to his feet. ‘About what was different today. And I realised… I chose to share my story, I did not have to tell you because of circumstance or necessity. I told you because I felt able to, that I could confide in you. And, somehow, that makes me feel stronger.’

Melpomaen smiled.

‘Then I am very pleased to have been of use to you. And if you need something to occupy your spare hours, I am sure there are language books in the library…’

Lindir laughed.

‘Not for this particular tongue,’ he said. ‘But perhaps I can ask Erestor for guidance. Thank you again, Melpomaen. I’ll see you tonight, perhaps.’


	24. Dream Sifter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir declines an invitation from Elrond...

‘How did our travellers pass their first full day home?’ Elrond asked during the evening meal with a genial smile. ‘That is to say, I know how my sons spent it, for I heard them, and the tale of their adventures through the building…’

‘Ada, we merely wished to greet Cook and see if she had missed us,’ Elrohir said.

‘To make sure all was well in her domain…’ Elladan added.

‘Indeed, I understand it had been… until you two paid her a visit!’ Elrond said with that raised eyebrow his sons had come to fear. ‘You will need to go back tomorrow. To apologise.’

Erestor hid a smile behind his goblet as he sipped at a glass of fine wine. Glorfindel laughed.

‘I spent time about the place, here and there, making sure the barracks were in order… looked in on the stables,’ the seneschal said.

‘And the wine cellar, so I hear.’

‘Oh, wait a minute, Elrond! If you already know what we’ve been doing, why ask?’

‘Politeness, mellon-nin.’

‘I walked out into the valley this morning,’ Lindir said. ‘Melpomaen took me to meet Tulusson, who advised me on the planting of the kernel of the mesri fruit I brought back from the fiefdoms. And then said I had quite the nice voice…’

‘This afternoon I know you were at your harp.’ Elrond smiled. ‘Even your practice, mellon-nin, was delightful.’

‘Thank you. Yes, I find I have not quite forgotten all the fingerings. But my hands tired more quickly than they used to; I need much more practice…’

‘And you do not ask me, my lord, what I was doing,’ Erestor put in, ‘for you know full well I had all your neglected post to attend to, and the library has become shockingly disordered; there is a full week of work just on the scrolls…’

‘Well, we were a little busy…’

‘Oh yes? With what, might I ask…?’

Lindir smiled to himself, grateful to Erestor for deflecting Elrond’s attention. Along the table, Melpomaen caught his eye and smiled.

Glorfindel also saw the look.

‘Ah… Lindir, not sure if you know this…’ the Balrog-slayer began under cover of Erestor and Elrond’s conversation, ‘But your new friend there… well, you realise he is not known for his pursuit of ellith?’

‘In all truth, I hadn’t given his preferences much thought… I would not have thought it any of my business, in fact. But he knows I’m in love with someone, why should it matter?’

Glorfindel shifted in his seat slightly, an unwarranted pink tint colouring his cheeks.

‘Didn’t mean to interfere. Just… I just don’t want you feeling uncomfortable, that’s all.’

‘I am grateful, Glorfindel. You’re a thoughtful friend.’

‘And you’re right, of course. A respecter of boundaries if ever there was one, Melpomaen is.’

‘I hope you do not mind his company too much; I suggested he might join with us, after supper.’

‘What did you go and…? I mean, oh yes?’

Lindir smiled.

‘Many of his friends have sailed. Some of our friends have sailed. And he is interested in travelling, he has said he might like to go on the next trip to the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds.’

‘Well, I am not,’ Glorfindel said emphatically. ‘Going south again so soon, that is.’

‘I do not think I will be going, after all. When Melpomaen and I were talking earlier, I had thought, if I could be sure B… Briot would not be there, or his supporters, I might make the trip, but now I think, perhaps, I had better stay at home.’

‘Ah. Well, that’s all right, then. Erestor’s going.’

Hearing his name, the advisor turned towards Glorfindel.

‘Am I going somewhere? Did I know?’

‘The Desert Winds place. You said, at breakfast, you’d go for the signing of the treaty...’

‘Well, if I did say so, that was before I saw the state of Lord Elrond’s library this morning…’

‘You need an Assistant Library Person. Maybe you could train Lindir in your systems? Give him something to do while you’re travelling…’

‘Oh? Lindir, are you interested in the library?’

‘I am interested in things being kept in proper order,’ Lindir said, a slight smile on his face. ‘And if you need someone to help, I have many free hours at present.’

‘Tomorrow, then, if you find yourself at a loose end, I will be most grateful.’

Lindir nodded. ‘And while I am there, could you perhaps show me if there is anything about the language spoken in the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds?’

‘Gladly. I recall there is very little, really… merely a few word lists and some very fundamental grammatical rules.’

‘But, Lindir, since you do not intend to travel to the fiefdoms, why would you need to learn the dialect?’ Elrond asked. ‘Your talents lie rather with the language of music.’

Lindir looked down at his plate; Elrond’s comment had felt like a rebuke.

‘The song I am writing for Kovalia; it would be nice to use some of her own language, if I can.’

‘I see. Well, that is most laudable. I hope we may hear this song soon?’

‘When it is finished, of course.’

Glorfindel glanced at Lindir, seeing his discomfort, and changed the subject.

‘There seem to be a lot of empty rooms about the place, Elrond,’ he said. ‘Just how many people left while we were away?’

‘Are you missing any particular friends…? Yes, a company came through who were on their way to the Havens… they suggested if any here were considering the journey, travelling together might make sense… several of the kitchen staff decided to go… as well as Lady Pelel and her spouse Thárben… ’

Lindir listened to the names, finding a sense of loneliness growing in him as Elrond continued… more than a dozen had gone, none of them people Lindir had been particularly close to, true, but still, now he would not have the chance to befriend them this side of the Sundering Seas. 

Along the table, Melpomaen’s head dipped as Elrond said one name in particular: Haerondir.

‘…and those are all, to date, although I think some of the knights were hoping I would give them leave to go; but while my seneschal was from home, I thought it best to wait.’

Conversation continued over the end of the meal, but finally Elrond rose from his seat.

‘Would you honour us with some music, Lindir?’ he asked.

‘I will indeed, once others have taken a turn,’ Lindir replied, trying to find a polite way to decline. ‘I have invited a friend sit with us tonight, and so   
am promised already for a little while.’

Elrond raised a slightly disapproving eyebrow. Lindir pretended not to see as he rose from his seat and hid behind Glorfindel as the seneschal left the table.

‘Did I hear aright?’ the Balrog-slayer asked as they headed for the same quiet corner as the night before. ‘Did you just say ‘no’ to Elrond?’

‘I hope so. I certainly meant to.’

‘Your new friend seems to have disappeared, you know. Maybe he got shy…’

‘When Elrond said Haerondir’s name, it saddened him. They were friends, perhaps.’

‘Rumour says they were more than friends.’ Glorfindel told him. ‘Not that it’s any of my business or course, nor should it make any difference… Ah, Erestor. There you are. Were you detained?’

‘Trying to persuade someone else to start the music tonight and so spare Lindir from Elrond’s eyebrow-summons…’

‘Perhaps I ought not have declined…’

‘No, on the contrary,’ Erestor said, flicking his robes into place as he sat. ‘I think it was well done of you. It is time you asserted your wishes on occasion, mellon-nin. Were we not expecting Melpomaen? He seems to have gone.’

‘We were,’ Lindir says. ‘But you are right; he is not here.’

‘Nor are our twins,’ Glorfindel said, grinning. ‘Their adar seems to have quite a lot to say to them.’

A servant brought wine and glasses to them and retreated. After a few moments, Erestor nodded towards the doorway.

‘Here is your friend now, Lindir,’ he said. ‘Melpomaen; we thought you had changed your mind.’

‘Oh, that would have been ill-mannered of me,’ he said, taking the seat Glorfindel pointed out to him. ‘I had something I needed to do; I should have said… forgive me…’

‘Of course, if there were anything to forgive,’ Erestor said. ‘I was surprised at how many have left Rivendell while we were away… I knew, of course, that there were persons I had not seen, but to hear them listed… Pelel, I would not have thought she would go…’

‘Thárben wanted to, and his lady decided, on reflection, to accompany him.’

‘Shall we see if we can rescue the twins from Elrond, Erestor?’ Glorfindel suggested. ‘We can bring another bottle of wine over on our way back. Shan’t be long.’

‘Excuse us, apparently,’ Erestor said with his small smile. ‘I know you are interested in the tale of our journey, Melpomaen. Perhaps Lindir can begin, and we will join you again presently.’

Lindir poured a glass of wine for the young healer.

‘I think that was Glorfindel trying to be subtle,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, but you seemed saddened when Lord Elrond mentioned Haerondir. Was he your friend?’

‘Yes, indeed, a very good friend. Almost the news of his decision swayed me. But I feel my work on Middle Earth is not yet done. Still, I will miss him.’

‘No doubt he will wait for you,’ Lindir said kindly.

Melpomaen stared at him.

‘We were good friends, that is all,’ he said. ‘There was nothing other than that between us.’

‘Then I beg your pardon; if I have offended you, I am very sorry… I meant only to…’

His friend was smiling, though, shaking his head. 

‘Glorfindel has been gossiping again, hasn’t he?’

‘You looked so sad when the name was mentioned, that was all.’

‘Would you wait? For Kovalia, that is?’

‘Oh, yes. But… she is human, she will only live seven or eight decades more at the most. Even if I can find her again, there will be so little time…’

‘I have something for you,’ Melpomaen said. ‘I went to fetch it… but then I realised, I do not know if your friends know that you… have bad dreams… so I thought, better not bring it forth with them here.’

‘Yes, they know,’ Lindir said. ‘I had to tell them what happened to me, although I would have preferred not to, in my shame… They were all very kind, afterwards. Even the twins, but Erestor and Glorfindel especially.’

‘Well, I am hoping this might help with the dreaming.’

Melpomaen reached inside his robes and drew out a small sculpture. It was no more than two hand’s breadths high, a delicate structure like a winter tree, made from twining wires of different colours all twisted together to form the shape of trunk and bough and twig. Some of the branches had little swinging stones suspended from them.

‘It is very beautiful, Melpomaen! I am most grateful. But… may I ask…?’

‘It is a Dream Sifter,’ he said. ‘It stands on the window ledge, or the night table, and when the dreams come in, they filter through its branches. The stones – jade, and jasper, and amethyst – they are said to have power to influence dreams. So the bad dreams would be deflected, or changed, or… there is something, a way to sometimes when you dream become aware of the fact, and then you can change it. One can add other things to the tree, also; significant things which remind you of people you love, or who care about you.’

He gave an embarrassed shrug.

‘It is an old folk tradition I heard of when I was studying my craft in Bree; I had to learn how to care for humans and their common sicknesses, and as much store was set on these little things as was on proven medicines.’

‘Then I thank you again. But…’

‘You are not going to say you cannot accept it, I hope? Let me explain… if you had come to me as a healer, and shared your story, then I would have been able to offer formal advice and counsel and make suggestions for your better sleep. But you said you spoke as a friend, and so as a friend, I offer this trifle; it is nothing, I have made several, I enjoy the work, and I had everything I needed in my workroom… it is not… do not think anything of this other than a simple gift, a wish for your healing. I am not trying to… I…’

‘Then I must repeat my thanks.’ Lindir smiled. ‘It is beautiful; the love you have for your work shows through. I wonder if the mesri stone will grow into a tree so lovely? I would like to visit the spot where we planted it often, just to see what happens. When will be not too soon to go?’

Melpomaen accepted the change of subject with a smile.

‘Tulusson would have us believe it could take years to germinate. But it is a pleasant walk on a fine day. I think less than a week would be too soon.’

‘Then in a week, I will walk up the valley. Would you like to come with me?’

‘Indeed, I will.’ 

The background music of the flute fell silent. Lindir saw Erestor making his way back over, Elrond looking around the hall and Glorfindel standing in front of him and try to strike up a conversation.

Lindir carefully stowed the dream sifter inside his robes with a smile.

‘It is too lovely to share just now,’ he said. ‘And I think I have to take a turn on the harp. Erestor – I have been gossiping, I am afraid, I have not got around to talking about journey to Lórien and Ithilien yet. I think I shall perform some of the songs from the Greenwood tonight, I feel like trees, tonight.’


	25. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir finds things slowly improving...

When finally Lindir rested his fingers against the strings of the harp to still it, the hall was almost empty. Having determined to play for as long as he possibly could and so prevent Elrond from striking up more conversation with him, he smiled to himself to discover he had been successful; only his friends remained.

Glorfindel beamed at him from the corner as he rose from his seat at the instrument and set it down in its resting place.

‘I seem to have the power to empty a room,’ Lindir said lightly as he resumed his seat. ‘I am not sure if that is a good thing, in a minstrel.’

‘You seemed to fall into your music tonight,’ Melpomaen said. ‘It is truly wonderful to see when one so expert leaves the world behind in such a way.’

‘It is true, I can become too engrossed… if I were a better performer, I would pay more attention to my audience.’

‘Well, there was no need. Your audience was paying rapt attention to you,’ Erestor said. ‘At one point Lord Elrond spoke to Mistress Laindis… and she shushed him.’

‘He was the one asked for music from Lindir,’ Glorfindel said. ‘So I am glad she did so and reminded him of his manners.’

‘Thank you for your company, and your tales.’ Melpomaen nodded to Erestor and Glorfindel and finally smiled at Lindir. ‘I will say goodnight, and may your dreams be easy.’

‘What was that about?’ Glorfindel asked as the young healer walked away. ‘Not that he’s a bad sort – improves on acquaintance, really.’

‘He had some suggestions to improve the quality of my sleep,’ Lindir said. 

‘Then that was kindly done of him.’ Erestor rose to his feet. ‘And I think it’s time I went to my rest. Lindir, if you were serious about the library…?’

‘I was indeed, Erestor.’

‘Then the hours after breakfast would be most useful if you are free. And I, too, wish you a peaceful night.’

*

It was bright morning when Lindir woke. He paused for a moment, not quite sure what was different… and then realised, he felt relaxed, rested, comfortable. His dreams had been… not untroubled, but…

He smiled as he sat up in bed and looked towards the window ledge. There, the light glinting off the precious stones dangling from the branches, the dream sifter stood sentinel.

Yes, he had dreamed. And just as the dream began to grow uncomfortable, to get that strange, disturbing sense of dread, he had looked around and seen the dream sifter, inexplicably on a table in the room with him. In the dream, he had looked at it, remembered it, and when the door had opened and the looming shadow of Briot had fallen across him, Lindir had known; it was but a dream, and he had the power to change it.

‘You cannot harm me,’ he had told the shadow. ‘For you are not here, and I am not here, and so you are unable to do anything but haunt me, and I am bored with that.’

And the dream had changed into something different, the peace of the valley on a fresh autumn morning and he had not woken screaming, his heart battering his chest, but with a sigh and a smile and a sense of gratitude in his heart.

Lindir pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms round them, turning his face to look at the dream sifter. Whether it had been the knowledge that it was there, or whether the little trinket had any real mystical, healing properties, Lindir didn’t know, but there was no doubt about it, he had slept wonderfully well.

And late. He had slept late.

Hurrying through his morning routine, he arrived at the breakfast table just before the end of the meal, so late that only one or two were still eating. 

Melpomaen was there, lingering, it seemed, and waved at Lindir as he selected food and looked to decide where to sit; Melpomaen’s greeting decided him, and he went across to sit opposite the young healer.

‘It is strange how the more empty seats there are, the harder it is to choose a place,’ he said as he sat.

‘True. I am on duty shortly in the healers’ wing, it is my turn to oversee the morning work. Mostly, I will be rolling bandages and checking winter medicines, for if our human neighbours fall ill during the coming season.’

‘I am almost ashamed to admit that I had not realised we did much to care for the humans in the area,’ Lindir said. ‘Perhaps I was always looking too much into the valley, before.’

‘But then, there were far more elves than humans in the valley. It is only now, that our numbers are so diminished, that the humans in the settlements around seem to have a larger role to play in our days.’

‘Perhaps so. It is our waning time, after all, and the Fourth Age will be the Age of Men.’

Aware that Erestor would be expecting him in the library soon, Lindir turned his attention to the food. He found he had more appetite than he had been used to, the simple texture and flavour of bread more appealing than previously. 

Melpomaen watched him eat with a smile.

‘I do not suppose we are such friends yet that I may ask after your health,’ he said presently, ‘but that I am not your healer also, and so ought not presume…’

Lindir shook his head.

‘But I think we are friends, and I was going to say, thank you for the gift! I slept well, was able to turn the evil in my dreams to good, and woke feeling much restored.’

‘That is good to hear.’ As if Melpomaen had only been waiting to learn how well Lindir may have rested, he now gathered his empty dishes together and got to his feet. ‘Well, I will be looked for in the healer’s wing. I will see you later, perhaps in the Hall of Fire?’

Lindir smiled.

‘Perhaps.’

*

‘Ah, Lindir, good morning… I did not specify an exact hour and wondered whether I had not been clear enough…’ Erestor’s smile of greeting was taut, tight, and Lindir wondered at it, until he saw Elrond ensconced at one of the better reading desks. ‘Well, come over here and I will start you off with some general ordering… let me explain the cataloguing system to you… there are several, in fact, but this is the most used section and the most straight-forward so why other uses cannot keep to it I do not know…’

Erestor raised his voice for the latter part of this statement and glared at Elrond who lifted a challenging eyebrow at him.

‘Through here, Lindir…’

Leading the minstrel almost to the farthest regions of the library, Erestor stopped at a set of shelves, a table nearby laden with books.

‘All these are to go away,’ he explained, taking a small collection of papers from inside his robes and thrusting them into Lindir’s hands with a shake of his head to silence the question forming on his lips. ‘They are filed simply by author and title. Now, when an author names himself of a place, we use their first name, so Gudron of Rohan is filed under G while Gudronnion Rochir is under R… do you see?’

‘Yes, I think so…’

‘Lord Elrond is making a study of some linguistic matters this morning,’ Erestor said pleasantly, his expression belying his genial tone. ‘And so some of the books I was going to look out for your work are already in use…’

Here he pointed to the documents he had passed to Lindir, who now glanced at the top sheet which seemed to be an apology and an explanation on similar lines in Erestor’s clear hand and made motions towards Lindir’s pockets. The minstrel hastily put the papers away.

‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘It is not of great importance.’

‘So, if I can leave you to work, I have some scrolls to attend to. I’ll come and see how you are getting on presently.’

Lindir had almost cleared the table by the time Erestor came back. He nodded and gave his terse smile.

‘You’ve got on well. I meant no disrespect when I said this was simple work; it was merely the easiest way of keeping Elrond away… I am afraid he has appropriated all the materials to do with the language of the Fiefdoms and taken them back to his study with him… I rather think he does not wish you to learn it, mellon-nin…’

‘He has tried to warn me that Kovalia is best left in my past, a figure of hope and comfort, and not brought into my future or dwelt on in my present,’ Lindir said. ‘I am sure he means well, and he has lost his daughter to a human attachment, which I think may colour his judgement…’

‘Not to mention that many have sailed already and the loss of more household members would be far too noticeable for comfort,’ Erestor added. ‘But, Lindir, you must follow your heart, not Elrond’s wishes in the matter; however wise he is, he is not in love with Kovalia, after all. Besides, I copied all the relevant information to take with us on our trip; the notes I passed you. And I kept the best grammar aside; we could make a start now, if you wish?’

‘Thank you, Erestor. I would like to do so. As I say, I am sure Elrond means well… but, as you say, he does not always know what he is talking about.’

‘You are not the only one, mellon-nin, to think so. Well, then. The first thing to know about this dialect is that it is even less predictable than Silvan variants on Sindarin…’

An hour passed in tortuous grammar and letter forms and finally Erestor set the grammar aside.

‘Well, we should leave it there for the moment. Will you come back tomorrow?’

‘I will indeed, Erestor. My thanks.’

*

And so Lindir slipped gently into a comforting routine of work in the library and language lessons most mornings, afternoons spent composing or practicing and evenings in the Hall of Fire. Every week he would make the trip up the valley, often accompanied by Melpomaen, sometimes by Glorfindel, and occasionally by both, while the last of autumn wore on into winter and the days shortened, and with each visit to the planting site of the mesri-stone, he noted how he felt compared to the previous week and so, as the dark days of winter began to approach he was able to realise that, yes, he was not over his ordeal, perhaps, but he was much further along his personal road to wellness. 

In fact, were it not for Elrond’s occasional enquiries after the progress of Lindir’s Song for Kovalia and the raised eyebrow that inevitably followed, Lindir would have thought Elrond had lost all interest in Lindir’s interest in her. It was almost as if, Lindir thought, that the longer the song was left unfinished, the more Elrond believed Lindir’s feelings for Kovalia were diminishing.

Lindir said nothing, studied the dialect, visited the planting site, and allowed Elrond to believe whatever he wanted.

And privately wrote a letter, under Erestor’s tuition, to the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds seeking news of Kovalia which Erestor slipped into the messenger bag for Gondor with the other letters heading south.

One morning, finding the library in worse state than usual, Lindir had decided to defer his inspection of the planting site for a day or so while he got on with the reshelving of books and scrolls and had been getting on well when a little commotion outside preceded the arrival of Glorfindel and Melpomaen. The Balrog-slayer had his hand on the young healer’s shoulder as he caught his breath, his eyes bright with excitement.

‘The mesri-stone,’ he began. 

‘Forgive me, Glorfindel! I forgot to say I would be working here today…’

‘Erestor said. We went up anyway and… and it’s sprouted. That gardener chap – Tulusson? – he said it was that heavy frost we had a few weeks ago, shocked it into doing something.’

‘I’m sorry you weren’t there to see it first, Lindir!’ Melpomaen said with a smile. 

Lindir smiled in reply, shaking his head.

‘Well, in truth, I wish now I’d gone. But the work here needed doing and I do not begrudge you the sight. I’ll take a walk up there tomorrow.’

‘We’ll all go,’ Glorfindel said.


	26. Expeditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir leads an expedition to examine the mesri-stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short Author’s Note
> 
> Apologies for the long delay in updating; this was due to Glorfindel messing around in one of my other stories and until I knew what he was up to I was unable to press on with Lindir’s Tale. Glorfindel is now sorted out, however, and so I hope to be able to update more frequently. 
> 
> Once more my apologies and thank you for your patience.

In the finish, it was quite an expedition that set off on a damp winter morning to file up the valley to look at the sprouting mesri-fruit, for Elladan and Elrohir decided they wanted to see, and Erestor thought it might be a pleasant outing. Along the way, they met with Tulusson who, uninvited, joined them on the walk.

Besides, it made sure the library was utterly empty when Elrond arrived seeking more information on the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds...

‘And is that it?’ Elladan said as Lindir knelt in awe to inspect the small green point protruding through the cold earth.

‘That’s it,’ Tulusson said. ‘Sprouted sooner than I dared hope. Determined little beggar, isn’t it?’

‘Not quite sure it was worth an hour’s walk just to look at this little thing,’ Elrohir said. 

‘But it is a miracle,’ Lindir protested. ‘This brave little spear of life has come all the way from the heat of the south, has sat in the cold and the wet of the hillside, and now, against all chance, has decided it wants to grow, here, far from home…’

Erestor stared at the tiny shoot of the mesri-fruit and came to a decision.

‘Lindir, I agree,’ he said, an odd little smile on his face. ‘It is a wondrous thing, and, what is more, a symbol of hope and renewal. And, talking of hope... I do hope I can leave you to make sure the library does not suffer too much from Elrond? I have a trip to make.’

‘Of course,’ Lindir said. ‘I am sure I can manage.’

‘I would be glad to help, too,’ Melpomaen said. ‘When I have time free from my healing duties. It is a bad time to be travelling, is it not? We are barely more than two weeks from Yule...’

‘Two weeks and three days; I know.’ Erestor smiled his small, self-contained smile. ‘I promised Arveldir I would visit him in Eryn Lasgalen; I have been trying to get away really ever since we returned from our journey south, but Lord Elrond seems to have had so much that needs doing... I have my saddlebags packed and stowed ready for more than a week now and shall ride off as soon as I might...’

‘But you cannot go alone!’ Melpomaen protested. ‘It is such a long way... and even though it is safer now, and we have peace, the wargs still will be hungry...’

‘Oh, I have no intention of going alone,’ Erestor said. ‘Glorfindel? Would you care for a ride across the mountains? You would be a welcome companion on the road...’

The seneschal muttered something about boundaries and kicked a rock.

‘I quite understand. And, actually, I am glad to hear you say so... Elrohir? How long will it take you to pack a saddle bag?’

‘What?’

‘We can be on our way within the hour and, since Glorfindel has declined, I cannot think of anyone who would benefit from a little time away from home than you... and I am sure your dear friend Rusdir would be delighted to see you...’

Elrohir scrambled to his feet.

‘Really? But what about Adar... no, to Mordor with Adar! Yes, ten minutes, no longer.’

‘Then I will take the other path and go straight to the stables and await you there.’

The younger of Elrond’s sons was already scrambling down the trail in haste. 

Glorfindel lifted his head and swore and Erestor turned towards him.

‘If you wish me to take a letter to anyone, I will be happy to do so.’

‘All right. Give me ten minutes and something to write on and with.’

‘Here. You can be getting on with that while I meet Elrohir and fetch our horses. We’ll come back along the low trail, meet us there if you wish to see us on our way.’

Still kneeling by the sprouting mesri-fruit and having watched all that passed with the disinterested fascination of one who knew that whatever was happening, he wouldn’t get the blame for it, Tulusson shook his head.

‘Is it me, or are some of your friends acting a little oddly today, Melpomaen?’

‘Of course, you do not come up to the house much, you probably do not know... just after Yule last year, Erestor got married.’

‘Really? He kept that quiet, didn’t he?’

Glorfindel overheard and decided to join in.

‘This is Erestor we’re talking about here... not exactly one to shout it from the rooftops.’

‘Ah. I wondered if there might be perhaps something our lord Elrond might not approve... would explain why he seems to want to run off in haste to her.’

‘Him. To him.’ Melpomaen supplied quietly. 

‘That would explain it.’ Tulusson got to his feet and brushed off his knees. ‘Good fellow, our Elrond , in general, but perhaps a little stuffy about some things. I blame the human in him. Well, he’s young yet. He may come to see things differently, once he grows up a little. Must be off now, I have a bed of leeks to sow today. Not as pretty as roses, but better in a stew.’

*

Once Tulusson had left, Lindir and Melpomaen good-naturedly made conversation about the day, the mesri-stone, the promise of spring to come. Nearby, Glorfindel scribbled down his message for his friend in Eryn Lasgalen. He seemed to take longer in the pauses between the shaping of the words than he did actually writing, but eventually he finished with a sigh and folded the parchment up.

‘Letter to my friend Triwathon,’ he told Melpomaen. ‘Well, more than a friend but that’s done with, now. Hard to know how to write, sometimes.’

‘It is nice, though, to still be friends enough to write.’

Elladan had been keeping watch at the head of the trail and now came back.

‘They’re on the way up the valley,’ he said. ‘If we’re going to meet them, we should be make a move.’

*

Erestor and Elrohir reined in their horses to a halt near their friends. 

‘This is what you should tell Elrond,’ the advisor said. ‘I am riding to Eryn Lasgalen on urgent business. It would be folly to ride alone, and so Elrohir has insisted on accompanying me so that I will be safe on the road.’

Elrohir gave a secret smile.

‘We do not know how long we will be gone, but then, I do not think either of us are needed for the forthcoming trip to the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds.’

‘Very good of you, Elrohir. Very selfless, riding out like this at the drop of a hat. Erestor, here.’ Glorfindel passed over the folded message. ‘If he asks, I’m fine.’

Erestor nodded.

‘I realise Elrond may be a little annoyed that we have not taken formal leave, but I did not wish to delay...’

‘I can deal with Elrond, don’t worry.’

‘Thank you, mellon-nin. Lindir, Melpomaen, be well. Elladan... I’ll take care of your brother, don’t fear. Glorfindel – take care of yourself.’

‘And you.’

‘If Elrond should find himself utterly at a loss without me, he may send a messenger hawk.’ Erestor nodded to them all. ‘Lindir, keep up your studies; it is important that when you feel able to speak, you will have all the languages you need at your disposal.’

‘I will, mellon-nin. Be well.’

‘Yes – watch out over the pass, it should be safe enough but you never know these days...’ Glorfindel muttered as Erestor and Elrohir turned their horses and cantered off down the main trail out of the valley. ‘Why he has to go now, this time of year...’

‘Maybe he... perhaps being kidnapped and... all that happened after, it may have made him consider how much he could have lost had he been... well.’ Lindir paused to shake his head and changed topic. ‘I have had a thought. Why do we not divert to the tavern for an hour or so? It will be warmer and it’s not far... and then we will be later getting back, thus deferring any awkward conversations with Lord Elrond...’

‘That’s an excellent idea!’ Glorfindel said. ‘I could do with a sit down in the warm...’

‘Your old bones playing you up?’ Elladan asked with a grin. ‘In which case, it would inconsiderate of us youngsters all to keep you from the comfort of the tavern inglenook...’

*

The tavern also furnishing a very good middle-day meal, and the fire warm and the ale crisp and cool, it was almost dark by the time they returned to the Last Homely House in a relaxed frame of mind to be met by Elrond’s raised eyebrow.

‘And where might you all have been?’

‘To look at the mesri-stone!’ Glorfindel said. ‘It’s sprouted!’

‘Indeed? And it is not even an hour each way, so the other hours were spent...?’

‘Celebrating,’ Elladan said. ‘In the tavern, in the warm. Oh, don’t worry, we were very well behaved... we stopped Lindir and Melpomaen from dancing on the tables...’

‘There was never any danger of that,’ Lindir said. ‘There was no room on the table thanks to all the tankards you kept bringing over...’

‘Very well, you are back, now go about your business! Erestor, I want... Where is Erestor?’

‘Couldn’t tell you exactly,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Last saw him several hours ago... he didn’t come to the tavern with us... is he not here?’

‘And where, too, is Elrohir...?’

Lindir turned to Melpomaen. 

‘Were you not going to find me a salve to keep my hands supple for my playing? Is now a good time?’

‘Now is a perfect time,’ Melpomaen said quickly. ‘Come with me.’

They left Elrond frowning at Glorfindel’s easy smile and headed to Melpomaen’s work room where he found a small pot of salve.

‘Although I am sure you already have some...’

‘I do indeed, but I had no wish to stay with Lord Elrond in such temper...’

Melpomaen shook his head. 

‘Indeed. And yet to leave Glorfindel and Elladan to face his wrath...’

‘Still, Glorfindel looked as if he was about to enjoy it... perhaps we should go back...’

‘Yes, perhaps. But the kettle is almost boiling now, and I was going to offer you some winterberry tea again?’

‘Oh, that would be lovely... on reflection, I am sure Glorfindel would not thank us for interfering...’

*

‘My study,’ Elrond said. ‘Now.’

His gaze encompassed both Glorfindel and Elladan, but as Elrond turned away, the seneschal put a restraining hand on Elladan’s arm.

‘No point both of us getting the scold,’ he said. ‘Besides, if you’re not there I can speak my mind if I have to.’

‘Ah, it is a shame I will miss it... but good luck...’

‘It will be fine,’ Glorfindel said hopefully, and followed after Elrond.

In the study, Elrond motioned Glorfindel to shut the door.

‘And I will not offer you a glass of something to keep out the cold, for you have had enough already, I deem... and you are in the warm now, besides. So, tell me, seneschal – what is going on?’

Glorfindel helped himself to a chair.

‘Erestor’s riding to Eryn Lasgalen on urgent business. Didn’t want him to set out alone, so Elrohir’s gone with him.’

‘You let my son ride off without a word?’

‘Well, Erestor did ask me if I’d like a jaunt across the mountains. But I thought you might not want us both from home at the same time...’

‘You thought correctly. But you shouldn’t have let Elrohir go!’

‘What then? Elladan? Or let Erestor go off by himself? I couldn’t do that!’

‘None of them should have gone! Why did Erestor have to go at all? He knows I will need him here, there is the trip to Gondor to make to accompany Elessar to the signing of this treaty...’

‘Oh, that’s the plan, is it? We didn’t know if you’d want your deputation to just make their own way to the fiefdom.’

‘In the light of what happened, of course I would not dream of sending elves there unescorted... it means a longer journey and Erestor will have to be back in time...’

‘He did say, before he left, that you wouldn’t need him to go. And, really, given that he was attacked and almost... well, why would you insist?’

‘I would not, of course, but for the difficulty of the language...’

‘But, forgive me, aren’t you learning it?’ Glorfindel asked with innocent eyes. ‘That is, whenever anyone looks for the grammar books, all you hear is ‘Oh, our Lord Elrond is using it’... so maybe he assumed you wouldn’t need him... still, I think he intends coming back in time.’

‘I do not like that he simply rode off as if he were absconding! It looks bad, Glorfindel. One would think he was afraid to ask permission...’

‘Well, perhaps he was.’

‘What do you mean? Of course, I could not in all conscience have encouraged such a trip at such a time, winter upon us... and when better weather arrived, then it will be time to ride for Gondor; he would have had to wait...’

Glorfindel’s eyes roved the room, refusing to light on Elrond’s face.

‘Yes. You see, I think he felt he’d already waited long enough.’

About to retort angrily, Elrond took a steadying breath and tried to work out exactly why he was so annoyed at Erestor’s behaviour. It was, he thought, the inconsiderate nature of the trip, the suddenness... and that it had involved Elrohir, too.

‘Why Elrohir, though?’ Elrond protested. ‘Why not one of the knights? Why take my son?’

Glorfindel decided the conversation had gone on long enough and to continue it would be unhelpful to the peace of Imladris.

‘Not really sure,’ he said as he got to his feet and headed for the door. ‘But to hazard a guess – probably because none of the knights are pining for their Silvan lover like Elrohir has been. I’ll see you later, Elrond.’


	27. Message from Gondor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond recieves a message which causes consternation...

It was more than a week before Elrond could look at Glorfindel without muttering under his breath, and the household moved towards its Yule celebrations on tiptoe. No mention was made of Erestor and Elrohir’s trip within range of Elrond’s hearing, and the Master of the Last Homely House did not directly refer to the matter himself, only saying from time to time that Erestor’s work was piling up, or that Elladan must be missing his brother and would he like to send a messenger hawk to call him home?

With Erestor gone, much of the work involved in organising Yule now fell to Lindir’s lot, but he found he had more willing helpers than Erestor ever did. Melpomaen was becoming a steady and sure friend, and Elladan, a little lost without his brother, generally sought them out whenever the work wasn’t too arduous. Glorfindel had a wealth of information on how not to do things, although he generally waited until after the difficulty had actually happened before pointing out that, no, you put the garlands on the tree first and then added the baubles...

Even so, there were hours, mostly mealtimes, when Lindir and Melpomaen would retreat to his rooms, or Mel’s, to study the dialect of the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds.

‘It is so difficult,’ Lindir would sigh, and Mel would smile back. 

‘Yes, but so is music. And yet you write that language fluently, when to me, all those notes look just like acrobatic tadpoles!’

Lindir gave his slow smile. 

‘If the language was sung to me, I would pick it up more swiftly, I think. As it is, you are far better at it than I...’

‘Well, let us not worry about all this grammar stuff today, then. Just knowing the names of things will help you. And very simple things – what would you say to Kovalia?’

‘Nothing. I would sing her my song, and let the magic of the music translate my love into her heart...’

Mel nodded.

‘For you, I am sure it would work. Come, try. We did these words yesterday and worked out subject and object and word order... Say ‘Hello, Kovalia, I love you’.

Lindir produced the most unmusical sound ever to have emerged from his throat, leaving Mel trying not to laugh.

‘Well, the look in your eyes is sincere enough. And I could make out her name, at least! Have another go... you’re not trying to clear your throat, and you are most definitely not Mistress Laindis’ pet feline with a hairball... shape the words more forwards in your mouth... yes, better.’

‘Really?’

‘No, not really. But you looked as if you were about to injure yourself so I thought I’d better stop you...’

Lindir shook his head, crestfallen, and Melpomaen hastened to offer such comfort as he could.

‘Cheer up!’ he said. ‘I overheard Elrond trying the formal greeting yesterday – you know, my lords, my ladies, o you Lady who Leads, we are glad to be here with you... it sounded like Mistress’ Laindis’ feline with a hairball and giving birth at the same time...’

The minstrel laughed, his eyes lively once more.

‘And, did you know, I have had Lord Glorfindel asking me for all the rude words?’ Mel continued. ‘He tells me he intends making substitutions in Elrond’s vocabulary lists so that he will actually say, ‘Greetings, I am a horse... at least, I think it was ‘horse’...’

‘Oh, no! He would not...’

‘No, for I would not tell him the word for ‘horse’. But it made Elladan smile for the first time this week.’ 

‘Then that was well done. He misses his brother.’

‘We all miss Elrohir, for without him, there is no real heart of laughter in the place without those two together; even Glorfindel needs a foil. And so, what this afternoon, Lindir? Music practice?’

‘For the Yule celebrations, yes.’ Lindir sighed. ‘And yet I would far rather walk up the hill to look at the mesri stone again.’

‘Well, let us go, then. You are already perfectly rehearsed for the Yule music, Lindir; better to get a walk in the air while you may.’

Yule came, and went, with quiet and sombre celebrations. Glorfindel retired from the festivities early with a purloined bottle of miruvor for his own private party and didn’t stir until the afternoon of the next day. For Lindir, performing music and helping Laindis, the housekeeper, with her organisational requirements, the week of Yule was over almost before it had begun and he and Melpomaen both heaved a sigh of relief when the household settled down to its more usual pace again.

Once he had sobered up, Glorfindel rounded up the knights and led them off on a patrol of the further boundaries.

‘We will be gone four days,’ he told Lindir as he prepared to depart. ‘Are you sure you will be all right while Elladan and I are gone?’

For a moment Lindir didn’t understand; why would he not be...?

And then he remembered, and found a smile of surprise and wonder on his face as he nodded.

‘Glorfindel, my thanks; I will be fine. I cannot remember the last time my sleep was distressed. Be well, my friend, and do not let Elladan have the best place by the camp fire; your old bones need it most!’

‘Do not let Elrond make you work too hard while we are gone.’

‘And do not you be thinking about running off to the Greenwood without telling us!’

*

Yule had been a month over and snow was lying like a thick eiderdown in the valley when a messenger hawk arrived from Gondor. In the absence of Erestor, it was Lindir who was brought the small parchment and who in turn had to take it in to Elrond.

He had made his bow and was already making for the door when he was startled to hear a low outpouring of bad language from behind the desk. Polite concern made him turn back.

‘My lord? Elrond, is something wrong?’

Elrond’s frown made him suddenly look far more human than he generally did; it was a startling alteration in his generally pleasant face.

‘It is Arwen...’

‘Oh, no! I hope... her condition...?’

‘No, all is well... but she doesn’t want Aragorn from home once she gets near her time. The date for the signing of the treaty was meant to be Midsummer; now it has been brought forward to the New Year, which means our delegation will have to leave in less than two weeks in order to get to Gondor in time to ride with the King... and there has been no word from Erestor...’

‘I am glad all is well with your daughter, my lord. She was very kind to me when I needed a friend.’

‘Yes, she has a good heart...’ Elrond heaved a sigh and shook his head. ‘But what is to be done? I was expecting Erestor to ride with us; he knows the language... even if I sent a messenger hawk today, he would barely have time to get back before we needed to leave again...’

‘I understood, my lord, that he did not believe he would be needed... but would it not be swifter for him to ride straight there? Or at least to Ithilien?’

‘No. Out of the question, I will not have him leave Elrohir behind in a forest full of Silvans! Nor will I have my son ride to the Fiefdom, not after... after everything...’

‘My lord, have you not been studying the dialect also?’

‘A little, yes. But we need more than one speaker...’

Elrond’s face grew thoughtful and he fixed Lindir with an enquiring look that made the minstrel feel decidedly uneasy.

‘Lindir, you have been learning the language...’

Lindir’s throat was suddenly dry. His stomach lurched and he found himself backing away from the desk.

‘No.’

‘You would be part of a large party and...’

‘No!’

‘Really, Lindir, you would be quite safe and...’

‘No, my lord, I will not do it!’ Lindir heard his own voice growing loud and tremulous, the pitch rising. ‘You cannot make me, it is not fair to ask it of me...’

‘Lindir, the time comes when we must all face our fears... if you truly want to find your lady love...’

But Lindir fled the room and left Elrond calling after him down the corridor.

*

No. No, no, no, he could not, would not, should not have to...

Lindir ran through the corridors, unheeding, desperate to get away, to escape the horrible images that crowded in at him, the sudden upwelling of memory. He didn’t realise he was muttering as he ran, he didn’t notice that he passed Melpomaen who stared after him and then began to follow, he climbed stairs and kept running until suddenly he was in front of the door to Glorfindel’s rooms and was banging on the wood so that the whole frame shook and in his ears the sound, now, of weeping.

‘What in the name of all the Valar...?’ 

Glorfindel’s voice, muffled by the door, and then Lindir was stumbling forward into Glorfindel’s room, sobbing and shaking and all the seneschal could do was put an arm around him and lead him to a chair.

‘I cannot... he cannot make me, I... he...’

‘Hush Lindir, you’re safe, nobody is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do...’

Melpomaen appeared in the doorway, his face aghast.

‘Glorfindel?’

The seneschal shook his head. Lindir was clinging now, face buried in Glorfindel’s tunic as he shook and wept.

‘I have no idea, Melpomaen...’

‘He delivered a message to Elrond, that is all I know...’

‘Over there, one of those bottles should still have some miruvor left in... probably one at the back. To the left... pour him a cup, would you? Thanks.’

‘Lindir?’ Mel said softly. ‘Can you drink this? It will steady you... you are safe, mellon-nin, Glorfindel is here, and would not let anything harm you. Come, let us help you...’

Lindir shuddered and pushed away from Glorfindel’s chest. His head was forward, his eyes downcast and his shoulders heaved as he struggled to master himself. Although he accepted the cup, he simply stared into the clear liquid within.

‘Shut the door would you?’ Glorfindel suggested. ‘Just in case... there, that’s better. Lindir, have a drink. Come on. Just a sip.’

The minstrel nodded and with shaking hands raised the cup. The warmth of the miruvor filled his mouth, soothed and calmed and strengthened him so that he was able to take a deep breath and look at his friends.

‘I am sorry to... to disturb you... to worry you, indeed, I am... there is nothing wrong, I was just a little distressed...’

‘Did it have something to do with the messenger hawk?’ Melpomaen asked. ‘Was the news upsetting?’

Lindir shook his head.

‘No, just... just Elrond, he... well, the trip south must come forward and Erestor is still away and Elrond said... said I should... he wants... wants me to go with him and... and...’

‘Does it count as a kinslaying if it’s a half-elf?’ Glorfindel asked, clipped and sharp.

‘Probably,’ Melpomaen said. ‘Lindir, he cannot have meant it, surely? He can’t have thought...’

‘He’s probably just come out with the first thought he had. When he has time to think, he’ll realise what a stupid idea that would be,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Won’t let him make you go, don’t worry.’

‘I am sorry; I am over-reacting, I know, it is silly of me... but... he wants someone who can speak the language, there is not time for Erestor to get back; Elrond did not seem to hear me when I said Erestor did not expect to go, anyway, and he said, since he knows I have been trying to learn...’

‘Well, so has he!’ Glorfindel said.

‘And,’ Melpomaen put in, ‘so have I... and I have been saying, I wanted to know what it is to travel.’

The minstrel took another sip of miruvor and exhaled slowly, striving for calm.

‘It is a safe journey, now, to Gondor. The way is open and pleasant, for most of it. And the city itself; it is a marvel... it is stone, though, stone hard and cold, but there is beauty there. You would be safe, as far as Gondor. And, in a large party, with the king... I would not dissuade you from travelling to Gondor.’ Lindir turned to Glorfindel at his side. ‘Will you teach Melpomaen how to fight? Will you show him your tricks so that he will not be unable to defend himself? I would feel happier, knowing he could protect himself...’

‘Of course I will.’

‘And, I know there is no danger, but that is just the mind of me; my thinking self knows it, but my feeling self cannot. My fëa... my fëa dreads the thought of... of B... of Briot... Yet Kovalia is there, and the king knows, and surely it is safe to travel in a large company? But I could not, not even for Kovalia, and...’

He broke off as a tapping came at the door, the soft sounds a servant makes.

‘My lord Glorfindel?’ a muffled voice said. ‘My lord?’

‘A moment!’ Glorfindel called out. He got to his feet, nodded to Melpomaen. ‘Take Lindir out onto my balcony for a bit of air. Nobody will disturb you, then; I’ll see what this one wants.’

‘Lindir? Shall we do as Glorfindel suggests, and take a moment? The valley looks beautiful under its snow, does it not? Come, can you manage?’

Lindir allowed himself to be guided to the bench on the balcony. The biting breeze snapped at his face, shocked him out of his misery and Melpomaen’s quiet companionship reassured him.

‘What you must think... forgive me, my friend!’

‘I think Elrond should be ashamed of himself, that is what I think! And it may be the case that there is no danger, but that does not mean there is nothing to fear, not after your experiences.’

‘And you really would go in my stead?’

‘I really would go.’ Melpmaen nodded. ‘But I have to admit, I think I will let Glorfindel know the word for ‘horse’, after all.’


	28. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melpomaen sets off with Elrond for Gondor, with a view to going on to the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds in the train of the King...

Glorfindel’s voice in louder-than-necessary dismissal alerted Lindir and Melpomaen to the fact that the servant had left. Mel pushed aside the curtains which had been screening the balcony as Glorfindel came towards them.

‘That was to say Elrond wants to see me. Can guess what it’s about... So, Lindir, have I seen you? Or haven’t I? In case he asks.’

‘Of course you have seen me; I would not expect you to deceive Elrond. But by the time you speak with him, you will not know where I am, if he asks...’

‘True. Are you all right, though?’

Lindir nodded slowly.

‘It was the suddenness, the thought that Elrond would simply assume I would... I am fine.’

‘Good. Stay here as long as you wish. Both of you.’

*

Once Glorfindel had gone, however, Lindir got to his feet.

‘I think if it is possible, we should warn Erestor not to hurry home.’

‘If we hasten, we can get a message off to the Greenwood today; the falconer will assume it is on Elrond’s behalf. My workroom is not far from the mews; it would be a good place to retreat to, once we have the message sent.’

‘Good idea... thank you, Melpomaen.’

The message was soon written: ‘From Melpomaen and Lindir from the House of Elrond, greetings to Erestor and to Elrohir. This to inform you our lord now intending to arrive in Gondor for the New Year festival, he is leaving Imladris before the next full moon rises. Unless you ride with urgent haste through bad weather, you will miss his departure. Be well...’ and Mel carried it off to the mews, leaving Lindir alone staring into the flames of Melpomaen’s workroom fireplace and nursing a mug of chamomile tea. 

He was starting to calm now, no longer fearful, but ashamed of his anxiety and, worse, disappointed and miserable... it had been a chance to seek Kovalia, but instead, he had backed away from Elrond as if Briot were standing at his shoulder waiting... 

Because, surely, if you loved someone, you would brave anything for them? And yet he would not even do this...

‘Lindir, I am back!’ Melpomaen’s voice sang out. ‘It went really well, the falconer said he had a peregrine just in its prime, he will send the bird as soon as he has told it where to go... Lindir? What’s troubling you?’

‘I... perhaps Elrond was right, perhaps I don’t really love Kovalia... maybe it was just my fëa trying to find some comfort where it could...’

‘What has brought this on, mellon-nin?’ the young healer asked gently, easing the now-cold cup from Lindir’s hands. ‘I have heard you speak of her, of how you feel about her, and it sounds like love to me.’

‘What do I know of love?’ Lindir shook his head. ‘Only what I sing or read or see around me! Surely, if I truly loved her, I would be eager to go...’

‘If you had not been so terribly hurt, right down into your fëa, possibly. If she wrote and said, Lindir, come to me, I need you, for instance...’

‘Then of course I would... I would try... but... what Elrond said... the time comes when we must all face our fears... and yet I cannot, so I fail myself, and Kovalia, and... and Elrond, although I care less about that but... still, I am a failure.’

Melpomaen knelt in front of Lindir and took his hands comfortingly.

‘Do you think Elrond is right?’

‘I... he is Elrond, he knows about these things...’

‘No, I think, when it comes to facing our fears, Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer knows about these things. Why do you not ask him, later?’

‘Well, perhaps...’

‘Besides which, do you not think Elrond may have had a vested interest in saying that to you?’

‘P... perhaps...’

‘Do you think Elrond advises everyone in this manner? Could you imagine him having told our Lady Celebrian she must face her fears...?’

Shocked, Lindir blinked and stared.

‘Melpomaen! She was tormented by orcs; it is hardly the same thing...!’

‘I know it is not; you were raped by a human man. The two cases are entirely different. Yet it was the wound to her fëa that caused her to sail, and this was an injury for your fëa, also.’

‘Besides, it would have been unkind of him!’

‘It was unkind of him to say it to you, too. These things take time, Lindir, and yes, perhaps the time does come when we must face things... but I think it takes more than a few weeks to recover from something as terrible as your ordeal.’ Releasing Lindir’s hands, Melpomaen got to his feet and began brewing more tea. ‘I think you do love your Kovalia, and I think it entirely understandable that your fëa still wants to protect itself by staying far from the danger of her brother. I will go with Elrond, and I will bear any missive you want, I will say anything you need, carry any letter... I will not attempt to sing your song to Kovalia, Lindir, but I will be your message-hawk.’

‘Thank you.’ Lindir’s face wavered between a grimace of misery and a smile. ‘Your words give me comfort, but... but the difference between what I hear, and what I feel...’

‘I know. This, too, is something that becomes easier, with time.’

‘And you really will go?’

Melpomaen nodded.

‘I really will, as long as Elrond will find me an acceptable translator. Believe me, the opportunity to travel, with a large group, to Gondor, it is no hardship to me. I promise you, I will take care, I will learn Glorfindel’s lessons, I will take no risks.’

*

After supper that evening, as Lindir prepared to sit at the harp for an hour, he found Elrond standing with his arms clasped behind his back in his official avuncular-lord stance. 

‘Lindir...’ he began, breaking off as he found Glorfindel suddenly at his elbow. At a seat nearby, Melpomaen and Elladan tried to look nonchalant as they sat within earshot. ‘Lindir, if you do not wish to travel to Gondor again so soon, Melpomaen has offered his services as translator... you can still change your mind, of course, but I am sure we will cope without you.’

‘I know the word for ‘horse’ if you get stuck, Elrond,’ Glorfindel said.

‘You will not be riding with us, Glorfindel. As seneschal, you will, of course, be staying here to make sure all is well in my absence. Elladan also will stay... and, Lindir, before I leave you to your music, I am not sure whether there was a misunderstanding earlier...’

‘My lord?’ Was this going to be an apology...?

‘Yes... I hear that you and Melpomaen sent a message off by hawk to Mirkwood; it was well done of you, but I had not intended you to take my remarks concerning Erestor and Elrohir as a request to send to them... it was thoughtful of you, however, and no harm done.’ 

‘Thank you, my lord. I will gladly stay, and work on my music, and endeavour to keep the library in order while you are gone.’

‘Well, do not let me keep you from the music, Lindir. My thanks once more.’

*

Lindir woke in the night clutching at his chest, staring wildly about him.

The dream had changed... this time, as Briot had stood over him, gloating and talking incomprehensibly, he had heard Kovalia’s voice in the background, imploring, pleading, and it came into his thought that she needed him, that his cowardice kept him from her, put her at risk...

‘It is not so,’ his dream-self had insisted. ‘This is a device of my mind, a merging of my present fears with memories of old terrors... I need not be victim to this...’

He had woken, then, but it had been a struggle, and it took him a few moments to recover his composure. On his nightstand, the dream sifter’s suspended gems turned and twisted silently in the dimness.

Lindir covered his face with his hands, striving for control. The fear in his heart now was not for himself, it wasn’t the dread of what-had-happened mingling with his terror of if-it-were-to-happen-again; it was other, different.

It was fear for Kovalia.

*

‘The focus of your night-terrors has shifted, perhaps,’ Melpomaen said when Lindir confided in him the next day. ‘It is good, I think.’

‘Good? How can it be good when I dream of Kovalia in danger and him – Briot – between us?’

‘Because it is no longer only you, Lindir. I feel it shows you are beginning to recover, if you can see beyond your terror like this.’

‘I do not know what to do, Melpomaen. I thought that the dreams would stop, in time, and be less frequent. But this thing did not happen, so how can I tell myself I have endured it? How can I use my coping techniques here when they do not fit? I told myself, it was a mingling of past events and my fears for the future, and I woke, but will it continue thus?’

Melpomaen turned away to pour hot water onto herbs for tea. He did not want to admit he didn’t know, but he could not quite bring himself to lie, to utter reassurances about which he was unsure.

‘In my experience,’ he began cautiously, ‘it is usual for the mind to alter how it processes difficult things. And if you remember how distressed you were yesterday, with Elrond talking about facing your fears, and maybe it is also my fault, because I said, if Kovalia sent that she needed you, would you go? So I put that thought in your mind. Only you can say if you felt that the dream was about what you endured, or about your misplaced sense of shame and failure.’

He handed Lindir a cup of spiced winter tea and sat next to him, looking into the heart of the fire.

‘So, my opinion is that this is hardly a surprising development, under the circumstances. And being reminded of everything with the impending visit to Gondor, with Elrond’s request, it would have been odd, I think, if your sleep had not been disturbed.’

‘But... I thought I had been doing so well...’

‘And you have.’ The young healer put his arm around Lindir’s shoulder for a moment in a comforting hug. ‘You are truly inspirational in how courageous you were, in how strong you have been... in fact, Elrond can almost be excused being an idiot yesterday, for forgetting how you suffered for you are so very, very brave and have tried so hard not to dwell on your terrible ordeal. Almost forgiven... but not entirely... he really is an idiot sometimes...’

‘But, I suppose, we are part of his household so he is our idiot,’ Lindir said, managing a smile. ‘Is it not odd how much wiser he seems when Erestor is home?’

Melpomaen giggled, and Lindir laughed, and felt better.

‘Shall we talk a walk up the valley?’ he suggested, when the tea was finished. ‘Or have you too much to do today?’

‘A walk will be nice,’ Melpomaen said. ‘But if I walk this morning, I must work this afternoon on my language skills. Will you help me, or must you practice your harp?’

‘I will work with you, of course,’ Lindir said. ‘Perhaps my helping you will also help me.’

*

By the time the party was ready to depart twelve days later, Lindir had settled down again. The dream had come to him twice, once in its old form, Briot leering and muttering, and once with Kolvalia’s voice, anxious, in the background. But each time, Lindir remembered the power the dream sifter gave him to alter the dream’s progress, and he called out to Kovalia not to fear, that help was coming, and after that he slept more easily.

On the morning of departure, the friends met in Glorfindel’s rooms to say a private farewell to Melpomaen after breakfast. Elladan didn’t stay long; his father wanted to give him last-minute advice as to the running of the Last Homely house, and so Glorfindel and Lindir were left alone with the young healer.

Lindir took out a carefully folded and sealed piece of parchment, passing it to Melpomaen.

‘If you see her – if you can – this is for Kovalia.’

‘I will do my very best, Lindir, I promise.’

Glorfindel saw the exchange and grinned. ‘Don’t get that mixed up with Elrond’s speech of formal greeting, will you?’

‘No, I will not... What’s the word for horse again, Glorfindel?’ Melpomaen asked, making Lindir laugh. 

Glorfindel told him, and went on to offer it as his opinion that Melpomaen was now as skilled in the dialect as Erestor had been. He was less complimentary about Elrond’s abilities, but didn’t see it as necessarily a problem.

‘The less he knows how to say, the less trouble he’s likely to get you all into,’ he said with a grin. ‘Remember what I taught you, Melpomaen, if you meet with any throuble; go for the nose, the eyes, the groin, bend back a finger, pull the hair... fight dirty, or fight like a girl... but I hope there will be no fighting.’

‘I am sure there will not be,’ Melpomaen said. ‘We will be travelling with the company of the King, no less. Who would dare?’

Before going down to the stables for the formal leave-taking, Lindir and Glorfindel took the opportunity to hug Melpomaen and wish him well.

‘For we can’t part like friends downstairs, not with Elrond watching. He’d be making up his own stories,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Well, come on. Help you with your saddlebags?’

*

They gathered to see Elrond and Melpomaen off; Glorfindel and Elladan and Lindir standing on the steps of the Last Homely House and its Lord preparing to leave in a strange reversal of the natural order. Glorfindel having insisted on sending almost all the knights as escort, it was a substantial little troop that gathered around the courtyard.

‘Glorfindel, take care of everything while we are gone,’ Elrond said. ‘Elladan, you are in charge, but do not forget to consult with Glorfindel or Lindir if you need to. And hopefully Erestor and your brother will be back before much longer.’

‘Be well, Adar. And give my love to Arwen.’

Elrond nodded and gave the order to depart, wheeling his horse and riding under the arch and off towards the south. Melpomaen turned in his saddle to wave, his face a mixture of sorrow at parting and excitement at setting off on his first real journey. Lindir made himself smile broadly as he waved back.

Soon the company were lost to sight, the hoof beats of their horses diminished.

‘Well, I suppose we can relax now,’ Glorfindel said, throwing his arms across both Lindir and Elladan’s shoulders. ‘Come on. Let’s go in and get warm.’


	29. Plenty of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor and Elrohir return

All at once the Last Homely House felt anything but homely.

Those remaining drew together around the fire in the Great Hall for comfort most days, loath to go about their business and realise how little it mattered, now Elrond was not there to issue orders and demand updates. There was little for Elladan to do or to consult about with Lindir and Glorfindel, little for any of them, really, to be busy with, except to take care of each other, and themselves, as best they could.

Before two days had passed, Elladan had moved into Lindir’s corridor temporarily, taking up a chamber two doors away. Before long, with a sigh, Glorfindel said that if they were clustering in the same wing, he might as well join them, and make life easier for the servants.

The weather closed in, thick with late snow, and Lindir sang hopeful songs of the turning of the white to green, but in the bleak grey and cream and blue landscape, nobody really believed it. The minstrel suffered from being trammelled up in the house; it was too cold and wintry to walk up the valley to look for the mesri-plant, and, indeed, too much a reminder of Melpomaen for him to want to go out.

‘You miss our young healer-in-training, don’t you?’ Glorfindel said, seeing Lindir staring out of the window and up the valley for the fourth day in a row, same time, same window, same sigh...

‘He’s been very kind. A good friend. Yes, I miss him... but mostly, I worry about him.’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Glorfindel said. ‘No, really. You’ll see.’

*

Ten days after the company had departed, news came of a little troop of riders heading down the valley trail. Glorfindel set out with two of his remaining handful of knights to greet them, and Elladan sent to the kitchens to prepare something special for the evening meal, in honour of the visitors. Nobody said, but everybody hoped it was Erestor and Elrohir coming back.

Lindir spend most of the afternoon looking out of one window or another, trying to see if Glorfindel had met with the party yet, who it was, how far away, and, as dusk was drawing down, went to seek Elladan to report.

‘It is, it is indeed Erestor and Elrohir, I have seen them meet with our welcome party and they are but two miles hence. What is more, I am sure they have Lord Arveldir and Captain Rusdir with them!’

‘That is wonderful news!’ Elladan said. ‘We should send to the servants, tell them to make up two more rooms... Lindir? Why are you laughing...? Oh.’  
And, yes, it was wonderful news, but Lindir saw the doubt in Elladan’s eyes as they gathered on the steps to greet the new arrivals.

‘Your brother will be glad to see you,’ he said. ‘Even though he has his special friend with him, there is nothing like the bond between you and he. Family ties are forever ties.’

‘Thank you, Lindir; I do not mind, I am not... not jealous... I am, indeed, very happy for him...’

‘But you are a little bit sad, too. I understand, I do. I see both these loving couples, together in their joy, and I think, where is my Kovalia? Is she well, is she safe...? It is normal, and natural, and does not mean you love your brother any the less. Nor he you.’

And, indeed, Elrohir threw himself down from his horse, shouting his brother’s name, and flinging his arms around him in a huge hug.

‘Elladan! Oh, I am so glad to see you! Are you well? How do you like being in charge? Nothing looks about to topple down, at least...!’

‘Well, I am well, and you? And you have brought your beloved back with you? I hope you do not mind, Lindir would not let me tell them to make up a guest room for him, will you share?’

Elrohir laughed as he released his hold on his beloved twin.

‘Oh, I think we can manage!’

Remembering his position, Elladan stepped forward and bowed.

‘Welcome, welcome all of you, visitors from Eryn Lasgalen and welcome home the rest! Please, allow the grooms to take charge of your horses, and come into the warm! There will be a celebration tonight in your honour, but for now, there is mulled wine and honey cakes waiting near the fire.’

Lindir found himself seated between Erestor and Rusdir, on the edge of several conversations but in a position to hear and contribute to all.

‘You’ll have had a hard time of it,’ Glorfindel was saying to Captain Rusdir. ‘We’ve had eight days of snow, and although you might not sink into it, I know your horses will have done...’

‘Yes, it became difficult... in fact, we stayed at the inn for some days...’

‘Ai, so near, and yet so far!’ Elrohir added. ‘We looked at the weather, and we looked at the passes, and we knew if we made a dash for it, we’d probably arrive before the snow...’

‘It would have been hard on the horses, but we probably could have beaten the storms,’ Erestor said. ‘And yet there was risk of losing the trail, should the cloud cover come down.’

‘And then, we wanted to be sure dear old Ada was from home when we did arrive...’ Elrohir grinned. ‘Just in case he thought he could bundle Erestor off with him without thought of poor old Arveldir...’

‘So, we have been at the Sign of the Happy Valley, adding to our friend the innkeeper’s retirement fund... in fairness, he did not want to take our gold...’ Erestor went on.

‘Just our silver,’ Elrohir added with a grin. ‘But we were made very welcome... they offered to send word down to you here, but we declined... just in case...’

‘...in case Elrond was still here,’ Glorfindel said with a grin. ‘Wise move, all told.’

‘I do not see Melpomaen,’ Erestor said curiously. ‘Is he well?’

‘He went with the company,’ Lindir said softly. ‘You may remember, he was interested in travelling. And he had been helping me with my studies in the language, so when Elrond required a translator...’

‘Ai, and I was from home!’ Erestor looked uncomfortable for a moment. ‘I ought to have gone, I know. But... I found I did not wish to. And that has meant another, perforce, has gone in my stead...’

‘Erestor, with all you have done for Elrond over the long years, none could begrudge you a little time to yourself, and your husband.’ Lindir nodded politely towards Arveldir. ‘You have waited so long to be together, it would have been unkind to expect such a sacrifice of you.’

And yet Elrond had expected it. Lindir kept the thought to himself.

‘He wanted Lindir to go, can you believe it?’ Glorfindel said, ignoring Lindir’s head-shake as the minstrel tried to silence the Balrog-slayer’s outrage. 'So, may the Valar reward him appropriately,’ Melpomaen volunteered.’

‘So you, too, turned down the opportunity to follow after our lord?’ Erestor smiled, a wealth of understanding and sympathy in his eyes. ‘Then I am grateful. For you make me feel less guilty.’

‘Then I am pleased to be of service. But how wonderful, Lord Arveldir and Captain Rusdir could come back with you...’

‘Yes, indeed. His majesty the Elvenking, on learning that our lord would be from home for so long, most graciously granted Arveldir leave to journey with me. And of course, we needed an escort, so when Captain Rusdir volunteered, the king agreed to spare them to us until Midsummer.’

‘We expect Elrond back before then,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Of course, with Arwen expecting, he might decide he wants to play Daeradar for a while... I wonder how long it will take before he outstays his welcome...’

‘Or he may decide it is all just too painful,’ Erestor said softly. ‘Arwen is mortal now, any children she bears will be mortal, too. They are so fragile. So brief.’

So brief.

Lindir swallowed, once more regretting his lack of courage. He should have gone with Elrond; he should have tried...

A bump on his shoulder and he found Glorfindel had inserted himself in the space next to Rusdir and had just nudged him.

‘Don’t, Lindir,’ he said. ‘Don’t. It was too soon for you to go; you’re only just getting your strength of spirit back. You did right to stay home. Melpomaen will talk to your Kovalia, and... yes, they’re brief. But they’re not that brief, or that fragile. Just hold to your hope, and you will be stronger.’

‘How long, Glorfindel? Really, how long?’

The seneschal bumped shoulders with him again.

‘As long as it takes. But you have plenty of time, penneth.’

Lindir nodded, accepting the kindness behind Glorfindel’s words. And it was true; he did, after all, have plenty of time.

But Kovalia, of course, might not.


	30. 'Not a Bad Place to be at The Moment'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor, Glorfindel and Lindir go for a walk

Although there were only an extra four persons in the Last Homely House, the place did, indeed, feel much more homely with the return of Erestor and Elrohir and their companions. Laughter rang through the Hall of Fire, mostly started by one or other of the twins, delighted to be together again, or Rusdir, beginning to feel at ease in Imladris.

It was good, too, for the constant snow and chill had made Lindir feel a little trapped, curtailed by the cold, so he felt the homecoming might be a metaphor for spring, and soon he would feel freer.

With Elrond absent, there were fewer demands on everyone’s time, so that within a few days, the house settled into an easy routine. Glorfindel led training sessions during the morning while Lindir worked in the library with Erestor and Arveldir present. During the afternoons everyone went their separate ways, giving Lindir time for his music and private language study before they met up again for the evening to draw together and share warmth and companionship at dinner, in the Hall of Fire afterwards.

‘How is your song coming, Lindir?’ Erestor asked on the third night back.

Lindir nodded. 

‘It is growing, a little at a time. My thoughts for it are changing, though, so I feel I am constantly reworking it and I fear to spoil it. But I am working on a translation into the language of the Fiefdom, too, when I find the words are slow to shape.’

‘Really? Then you have made progress with the language?’

‘Yes. Melpomaen helped me see the patterns, at last. But I still struggle with some things.’

‘Well, I am sure I can find a free hour each morning, if you like,’ Erestor suggested. ‘It will do me good to keep up my own studies of the dialect.’

Gradually, the cold snap lost its grip on the valley, the weather improved, and the fields of while grew greener again; Lindir’s sense of being besieged diminished with the snowfields, until one morning of bright blue skies and air so crisp you could almost bite into it, he thought it might be a good day for a walk, and made the suggestion publicly at breakfast.

‘I was considering a trip up to look at the Mesri-plant, to see if it has endured the cold,’ he said. ‘I should be glad of a companion, or two, if any amongst you would like a walk?’

Glorfindel’s eyes were on him, he knew, and he tried to look easy with the scrutiny; in truth, it was only now that he realised it had been a while since he’d walked up the valley... and it had also been a while since Glorfindel had asked how he was, since he had confided in his friend.

‘I will come,’ Erestor said. ‘Arveldir, my dear friend, I think you should stay in the warm. I can find you some very interesting books on the history of region, if you would like to look them over? And, Glorfindel, I am sure our twins and Captain Rusdir can practice with the knights without your help today, yes? You look as if you would benefit from a walk.’

‘Well, that’s us told!’ Elladan said with a laugh. ‘Good luck, Lindir – I hope the high snows don’t cause you too much trouble.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ Glorfindel answered for him. ‘Being proper elves, we’re not going to sink to our ankles like you and your brother, after all!’

‘Is that what happens?’ Rusdir asked quietly. ‘I had not thought... is it a problem for you, Elrohir? Is that why you avoided snow so assiduously during the journey?’

Elladan giggled as Elrohir hastened to explain.

‘No, our good Balrog-slayer is teasing! I do not like the cold of it, that is all; I feel the cold a little more than a full elf does. But I am fine on snow. But there’s a thought – Arwen. Now that my sister is mortal... would she sink in?’

‘She would at the moment – I bet she’s the size of a house!’ Elladan said, laughing. ‘Oh, could you imagine the look on her face if she wasn’t expecting it!’

Glorfindel grinned, shaking his head.

‘Incorrigible, you two! Well, make sure you do a proper session with the knights – no slacking!’

*

There was obviously something going on, some reason Erestor had decided who was coming on the walk and who wasn’t. But he had proved such a staunch and wise friend that Lindir was quite willing to allow him to choose companions for him on this occasion, and the inclusion of Glorfindel was always reassuring.

The walk up was bracing, a change from the closer atmosphere of the valley, and it was only as he felt his heart lift that Lindir realised he had, in fact, been lower in spirits than he’d realised. 

Conversation was mostly carried on between Glorfindel and Erestor, mostly from their positions as seneschal and advisor, with just a few forays into the personal.

‘And Triwathon, Erestor?’ Glorfindel asked. ‘You have not mentioned him at all. Is he well?’

‘Yes, he is well, and begs to be remembered to you. In fact, I have a parcel at home which he sent back for you; I have not had chance yet, it seemed too personal to present in front of our twins.’

‘I’m grateful. Of course, I had nothing for him...’

‘I sent in some honey beer for him, with your compliments, although Arveldir was loathe to part with it...’

‘Good of you. His new command, he likes it?’

‘He seems to, and to be well-respected. Now, come, tell me. Is it true that you coached Elrond in how to say, ‘I am a horse’ in the dialect, instead of ‘I am grateful’?’

‘Ha, well, I did try... but Mel was there before me, I’m afraid...’

Listening in, content with the walk and the change of air, Lindir smiled to himself and allowed the other two to draw a few paces ahead, giving them privacy to talk as they would. But before long, Erestor had noticed, and fallen back to walk at his side.

‘It is good to be home, mellon-nin. I feel a little guilty for taking Arveldir away from his beloved forest, but I look around me and, for me, it is not the place, not the valley that tugs at my heart, but its people. Were I sure that all those I care for here would be well, I must admit, I would run away to Eryn Lasgalen in a heartbeat! It is very beautiful, especially now that the darkness is lifting. And to see my husband against such a setting... well.’

‘You have been missed, Erestor, there is no denying it. But we who know you do not begrudge you a moment’s joy; you have served so long with so little reward.’

‘Well, I have my reward; it is simply that it is not easy to be together all the time. But no matter; it is of you I would speak, which is why I suggested just we three walk out today, so you would be comfortable speaking freely, if you wished to. You say you are well, and I would not disbelieve you, but you miss your friend Melpomaen, I think? And Elrond was not kind in suggesting you go with him, I hope you suffered no ill-effects?’

‘It is true, his request did give me pause... I had hoped I was stronger than I proved. I... I wanted to go, but my courage failed me.’

‘You know,’ Glorfindel said, falling into step on Lindir’s other side, ‘I reckon if Elrond had been staying at home, I think if he’d said, ‘Glorfindel, you and Erestor, Fiefdom, off you go, any volunteers?’ then you’d have been all right. I think it was as much about that it was Elrond asking, him being there, perhaps looking from you to Kovalia and back again, that bothered you. Do I guess aright?’

‘I had not thought... but, perhaps. It is a good thought, a reassuring one. You give me hope, Glorfindel, that one day I will find my courage...’

‘Mellon-nin, you have never lost your courage,’ Erestor said softly. ‘You are constantly, consistently brave. But you have had too many things to be brave about, perhaps. What Glorfindel says could be right; too much of your courage would have been spent on worrying about Elrond for you to feel confident of coping in the Fiefdom. But you will find your strength. You simply need a little more time.’

Lindir nodded. ‘It is also true that I miss Melpomaen. He is a kind friend, and has a knack of explaining me to myself which can make me feel better. Much as you have, Erestor, and you, Glorfindel, in your way. Did he learn from you two, perhaps?’

Glorfindel grinned.

‘Maybe we learned from each other,’ he said. ‘Are we there yet?’

They nearly were. A few moments more, and they were turning along the last little ridge leading to the sheltered nook where the Mesri-fruit had taken hold. There was a little dome of lingering snow over it, but two leaves poked bravely through, lifted to the light.

‘There, you see?’ Erestor said. ‘A sturdy little plant, unharmed by the frosts. Strong and growing, still. Who knows how big it will grow? Perhaps in due course, Lindir, you will harvest fruit from it. But for the moment, it bides its time, conserves its energy, and does what it has to do in order to progress to its next stage.’

Glorfindel snorted.

‘Is everything a metaphor with you, Erestor?’ he said. ‘I’m sure I’d have remembered!’

‘Ai, you are growing forgetful in your dotage, old friend,’ Erestor said with his small smile. ‘So what shall we do now? Extend our walk and take lunch at the inn? Or back down the valley for the comforts of home?’

‘Home,’ Lindir said. ‘There are too many gone for us not to be missed.’

‘Home it is, then.’ Glorfindel said. ‘And, all things considered, it’s not a bad place to be at the moment.’


	31. 'This is My Truth'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year comes, and Lindir comes to a difficult realisation...

Time began to pass as it often did for elves in times of peace and ease, one day and another following with minor changes only; Lindir sang different songs, learned more tortuous verb conjugations, and every week he and some of the household would walk up the trail to look at the Mesri-shoot. It continued to grow, to flourish and join in with the quickening of new life all around.

The weather turned kindly with the lengthening days at last, the sun had more power and the rains were sweet and smooth, free from hail and snow.

New Year was upon them in a flash; they feasted under the starlight and Lindir led the songs of celebration that had always been sung in Imladris for the occasion. Then Arveldir and Rusdir came forward, and began a slow and sonorous rendering of a gentle, meandering melody that spoke of the awakening of the forest from its long cold-sleep and moved to the joyful awakening of fresh growth and renewal. 

After they finished, a silence fell, settling with grave dignity over the gathering.

And then a single, lone voice, a deep and throaty baritone struck up a very different sort of a tune:

_‘Here I sit, the jug goes around,_  
And I am following after  
Just fill the pot for I’m a drunken sot  
And we will all have laughter...’ 

‘Glorfindel!’ Erestor and Lindir protested together, but with a laugh Elladan and Elrohir joined in the chorus and soon almost everyone had joined in with the tune so that the New Year was welcomed in with lively and joyful celebration.

‘I do not think Elrond’s commemorations of the night will have the same tone, somehow,’ Erestor murmured to Arveldir. 

His spouse laughed.

‘I think he is the loser, in all honesty. Everyone seems to be having fun. Even Lindir is joining in.’

It was true; after the second time of Glorfindel’s drinking song, Lindir added his voice to it, harmonising in his light tenor and managing to give the tune something like respectability, even if some of the words remained strictly improper.

They drank and sang and laughed and Erestor leaned against Arveldir and... and giggled in a most unusual fashion...

‘Well, that’s enough singing and drinking for one night,’ Glorfindel said, abruptly bringing the party to a close. ‘We’ve still work to do tomorrow... Lindir, come on, help me set a good example here...’

‘After your fine contribution to the music?’ Lindir laughed. ‘Well, perhaps it is a little late. But I think everyone else should do as they please; let you and I just be the sensible ones, shall we?’

Saying goodnight to the others, they left the little starlight party and made their way back to the Homely House. Glorfindel, drunker than he realised, stumbled, and Lindir hooked the seneschal’s arm across his shoulders to keep him steady.

‘Are you all right, Lindir? You seem to need a little cuddle...’

‘Ha, yes, I need to feel needed, you see, helping you along with due care for your ancient bones... am I all right? You know, I think I might be; it’s a new year, Glorfindel. The world is springing with fresh hope and... and for me, also, a fresh start, a chance to leave the pain of last year behind... I am sure there will be times when memories return to haunt me, but I will not look back, I will look ahead, into the brightness of the longer days, to a time when, perhaps, I will not be ‘poor Lindir’ in everyone’s thoughts...’

‘Ah, now, I never... well, I did. But only as in, poor Lindir, will Elrond never give him a moment away from the blessed harp, he is not a performing servant...’

‘Thank you, mellon-nin. Yes, at times it has felt like that, I am his pet minstrel and you are his pet Balrog-slayer. We both know the truth of ourselves is bigger than that, do we not?’

‘We do indeed, Lindir. And we know a bigger truth than any of the others can guess at; not only are we stronger than we think, we are stronger than they think, too. Lindir and Glorfindel against the world, yes? You and me, survivors...’

‘You and I, survivors indeed. Here we are. If you will take a word of advice, mellon-nin?’

‘Yes, penneth?’

‘Drink a large cup of water before you sleep. It might help you survive the hangover that will be waiting to greet you in the morning.’

*

Glorfindel was not the only one to appear limp and listless at the breakfast table the next morning; Elladan, too, crept to the table as if the very air was too loud, and stared balefully at Elrohir who was about to take a bite from a piece of toast.

‘Shush, ‘Ro,’ he said in a husky, fractured voice. ‘Saes, no crunching!’

Of course, this made his twin burst out laughing, which was much louder than any crunching might have been. Elladan, and Glorfindel, winced.

‘There’s a jug of restorative on the table, next to the fruit dish,’ Lindir said gently. ‘I think there’s enough for both of you.’

‘It will take more than Mistress Laindis’ restorative,’ Erestor said, smiling as he took his seat and moved up for Arveldir to sit beside him. ‘But this is the price to pay for singing drinking songs; one must needs drink to go with them... I wish you a joyous New Year, hangovers notwithstanding, may it be blessed for us all.’

*

Indeed, as the year began and rolled out the new promise of its green weeks, it felt as if it would be, to Lindir. His sleep was peaceful once more, the mesri-shoot was growing strongly, flourishing in its sheltered position high on the mountain.

And he had hope, now, hope that Melpomaen would pass on his message to Kovalia, that she would perhaps even write him a reply; his love for her had weathered the winter and, like the mesri- shoot, flourished and thrived in the shelter of his heart.

So as the days and weeks advanced, he began to wonder how soon the travellers might return, when was the earliest he could start looking for the return of Melpomaen with, or without a letter for him from Kovalia.

Glorfindel walked up with him one day to look at the mesri shoot, now more of a young plant that a seedling, and sat down on a rock to listen to the chuckling stream and star out over the trails below.

‘So... how are you feeling about things these days?’ the seneschal asked. ‘Kovalia, I mean. Mel will have spoken to her by now, perhaps... did you write about your feelings? You did write, you did send a letter?’

Lindir looked up and smiled.

‘Yes, of course I wrote... did you not know? I wrote in her language, more or less, and Melpomaen helped, guiding me as to where there might be confusion of similar words, just in case. I tried to be... well, to declare myself in a letter is not really my style; I hope I said enough... but if we are right, if she really is their Lady who Leads, then why would she think of me? I live far from her lands, she must be in her fiefdom to govern it, and I... while her brother’s fate is not known to me, I do not think I could be comfortable there. For all the love I hold for her, for all that my feelings have only grown through the quiet winter, these recent weeks while I have been thinking, and starting to wait for a reply... I do not know what manner of future together we might be able to forge...’ He sighed. ‘Perhaps Elrond is right, in this; humans are brief, their time is short, and is it worth all the pain of encouraging my love for her only to feel the pain of loss after?’

‘Lindir!’ Glorfindel came to hunker down in front of the minstrel, holding his gaze. ‘You can’t give up like that! Yes, they are brief – but that doesn’t mean they’re not worth loving – it just means you don’t have as long to think about it! With the right person, forever isn’t long enough – and with the wrong one, a day is like an eternity...’

Lindir looked down and shook his head.

‘It is moot, in any case; all I can do is wait for an answer.’ He looked up again, holding the ultra-blue gaze of the seneschal. ‘Do you remember, the eve of New Year, we talked? You said we knew the truth of ourselves... well, this is my truth, mellon-nin; I know longer know if I want Kovalia to return me feelings or not. And I do not know what to do with that particular truth.’


	32. Advance Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melpomaen returns...

Unable to find an answer that wasn’t almost as sad as Lindir’s words, Glorfindel rose to his feet and looked out from the shelter of the hillside, back across the valley. Under the afternoon sunlight, a glint, something – some things – moving on the plain.

‘Lindir?’ he began. ‘Come here a moment? Look to the south, on the trails, tell me what you see...? My eyes are as old as my bones, after all, and they might lead me astray...’

‘Where, Glorfindel...? I doubt it’s your eyes, but the angle of the sun... little gleams and splinters of light, as might be sun on metal...’

‘Armour. Or weapons, I thought maybe bouncing off the crown of a couple of helms. And here we are, up the valley, only a handful of knights left about the place...’

‘They are far off still. There is time for us to get to the house, at least. It... it couldn’t be Elrond back... could it?’  
Glorfindel shook his head, staring one last time across the plain before turning to set off down the trail.

‘No,’ he said over his shoulder, assuming Lindir would follow. ‘Not enough of them. And I think he was going to stay in Gondor for a few weeks after the treaty.’

‘If there’s only a few...’

‘Yes, shouldn’t be beyond our military capacity. Besides, I’m spoiling for a fight and I’m pretty sure the lads are up for a scrap, if it comes to it.’

But Lindir shivered and hurried after Glorfindel, hoping he wouldn’t be expected to wield a weapon.

The seneschal paused on the trail ahead, looking back and waiting for him to catch up.

‘Don’t worry, Lindir,’ he said. ‘Wrong time of day for an attack, anyway. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

*

But it both was... and it wasn’t.

They reached the house to find it in a little bit of a stir. Erestor was bustling, directing, giving orders – in his element, in fact, Glorfindel thought – but as the tone of his voice was eager rather than alarmed, it seemed a good omen.

‘There you are!’ the advisor said. ‘Lindir, I would be glad of your help, if you are free... the border scouts brought word, travellers approaching, three of our own knights and Melpomaen with them. Not Elrond, no others, just these four. So I am assuming he is sent ahead to announce his lord perhaps a few hours behind him and, really, some of us have been having Too Much Fun...’

This last was spoken sternly and with a baleful glare at Glorfindel who laughed, throwing back his head.

‘Yes, I suppose some of us have,’ he said, calming. ‘Some of us have been getting tipsy and giggly of an evening. Some of us have our spouse or our sweetheart next to them at the table... Some of us...’

‘...Some of us are grossly impertinent, Glorfindel! Well, run along, do whatever it is you pretend to do around here... Lindir, I noted when I got back that the rooms had been reorganised, do you think they ought to be changed back now, if Elrond is coming home...? He might not like to find Glorfindel not in his proper place...’

Caught up in the debate about who was going to break the news to Glorfindel that he was going to have to move chambers again, or why he needed to, for that matter, Lindir quite forgot to worry about what news Melpomaen might be bringing from Gondor and beyond.

At least, he did until the moment the knights rode into the courtyard, his friend amongst them, and suddenly all his anxieties came back in a rush.

He got through Erestor’s formal welcome speech with a sick feeling building in his heart, distantly aware Melpomaen was issuing reassurances...

‘...no, in fact, Lord Elrond intends staying several weeks longer, perhaps months more, in Gondor, but King Elessar suggested you would be waiting for news, and that perhaps I might be sent back with some of the company... no, nothing to worry about, all is well...’

But Melpomaen’s gaze rested briefly on Lindir and then slid away again, and the minstrel’s courage quailed even as his friend gave himself a little shake and approached.

‘But Lindir, mellon-nin, why do they hide you at the back? I am very glad to see you...’

Lindir bowed, hand on heart, and murmured a greeting, but it wasn’t enough for Mel, who would put his hands on Lindir’s shoulders and look into his face.

‘I am glad to be home, Lindir, and I would like to tell you some of my travel stories later, if I may?’

‘I... I should like that,’ Lindir said. ‘But you have ridden long and... and I think Erestor wishes to...’

‘Yes, Melpomaen, come along in! Once you have refreshed yourself, we would love to have your news... after supper, perhaps?’

‘Indeed, Master Erestor, I will enjoy that...’ Melpomaen turned back to Lindir. ‘But perhaps I can sit with you, before supper for a time, Lindir?’

‘Yes, of course. We can sit in my room, if you like.’

‘Wonderful; I have so much to say... oh, and somewhere, Erestor, there are formal missives... one of the saddlebags...’

*

Amidst the bustle of finding letters and sending the horses with the grooms, Lindir was able to slip away to his rooms for a little solitude; indeed, he felt greatly in need of time to reflect. His words to Glorfindel came back to him, and now he felt more confused than ever as to whether it was right to love Kovalia or not, what he should do about it anyway... but now, now with the thought that soon he would know her feelings for him, he was churning inside, his mind restless and his heart heavy, somehow, anguished...

Not long to wait.

He would rather not know, he thought, then he would be free to decide without any outside influence... except... he loved her...

Too soon, Melpomaen was tapping on his door and Lindir offering him a seat by the open window, wide to the late afternoon sunlight.

‘Welcome home,’ the minstrel said. ‘You were missed. Really... I missed you.’

‘Thank you, Lindir! I think I’m glad to be back. It was amazing, though, Gondor, all those people! All the colour, and the life...! And the smells! It’s good to see Erestor and his husband here, and Elrohir and his friend... how are you, Lindir? Really?’

Lindir was able to smile and nod.

‘Thank you, I have been well. I have slept properly, with few, if any, disturbed nights. In myself, I feel... mostly better. I will admit, I have been anxious about your journey, so to see you safely home is a relief, except... I... Oh.’

‘Lindir,’ Melpomaen said, smiling as he sat down. ‘Lindir, it’s good to hear you’ve been better. You look better, too, except... sad, perhaps? Or is it worry?’

‘Of course it is worry, I... the letter you took, the news you may carry, and I do not want to pry, to seem to want you only for what you might tell me...’

‘Much, I have much to tell you and all the ride up the Greenway I have been marshalling my thoughts...’ Mel sighed, smiled. ‘There is good news, and... and other news...’

‘Oh, that sounds... confusing. Will you have some wine? Lord Glorfindel left it here; he has adopted the room next door and finds it better to drink with me, than to drink alone and have his room smell of wine...’

‘Thank you, I will drink a glass with you.’

Mel waited for Lindir to pour the wine, lifted his cup.

‘Your health!’

‘And yours. So... all went well, the signing of the treaty?’

‘Yes, all is done and both the Fiefdom and Gondor are happy with the arrangement. There was an incident... the day after the signing, the brother of the Lady who Leads was to be banished with his Briotani, him to a far outpost for several crimes of violence, they similarly disposed of ... in fact, Briot resisted, and tried to fight his way out of the palace. He took a hostage...’ Mel shuddered. Now was not the time to mention it had been he, closest to the door, whom Briot had snatched... ‘And with his men around him, tried to flee. But the one he had captured fought back, and in the ensuing scuffle, Briot was slain by one of Gondor’s warriors, and another killed. Aragorn – King Elessar – told me it was important I tell you, the other slain was the one who had been at Gondor...’

Lindir gulped his wine. Briot, dead! The one who had mauled him, also slain...

‘In fact, Aragorn spoke to me at length, when he knew of the friendship between you and me. The Lady... she told him, an elf had suffered at her brother’s hands and she was sorry for it, that she hoped he was well... said he had been a kind and gentle soul...’

The minstrel bowed his head, shuddering. Was this good, or bad?

‘But, Lindir, I did not give her your letter. I am sorry.’

Lindir took a breath. With Briot and the other dead, the Briotani broken up and gone, he need not fear the journey... but still, he did not feel he was ready for it, so perhaps this would prove a good thing...

‘... I am sure you would have done so, if you could, so...’

‘Well, you see...’ Mel set down his glass, playing with the frayed edge of his sleeve. ‘I... I thought it better not to try. I nearly did anyway, but there is... that is to say... she... she’s pregnant...’

‘Oh.’

‘Quite a bit pregnant and... here’s the thing... Elrond – you know he has no idea of manners amongst humans – he asked how could it be? Wasn’t she a widow? He was told... the Lady is married. Lindir, I am so sorry... all I can think is, being their leader, she had to find a way to secure her line and... oh, I feel awful telling you...’

‘No, don’t worry, Mel,’ Lindir’s voice was faint in his own ears. He swallowed, drank more wine, tried to steady himself, shocked numb as he   
tried desperately to take in this news, to process its relevance to him. ‘It’s... I was thinking, anyway. She couldn’t come here, she has to rule her people. And I don’t... even without the Briotani, I don’t think I’d want to live there... perhaps this is... is better. I... I could write to her, thank her for asking after me, I suppose... At least we know for sure now that she is Kovalia...’

Mel drew his breath in through his teeth.

‘About that,’ he said, reaching into a bag he’d brought in with him and set a large, round fruit on the table. ‘Actually, this is a kovalia...’

‘No, that’s a mesri fruit.’

Mel shook his head.

‘It’s the language, confusing. The Lady who Leads – her given name is Mesri. There’s no doubt, this is a kovalia fruit. I know all about how best to grow it now, though, I asked someone... Lindir...’

‘What? I’m sorry, it’s too much, it’s too... too soon... I... I loved Kovalia and now she isn’t Kovalia, she’s someone else, a married someone else... but it wouldn’t have worked, would it? It couldn’t have, so... so I can continue loving Kovalia, because she isn’t married... she doesn’t exist, except in my memory... she never existed, really, did she? Perhaps that’s the best way, I can keep her in memory young and not married and...’

Lindir only realised he was weeping when tears splashed on the table top.

‘My friend, I am so very, very sorry to bring you this news...’

‘Better from you than from Elrond, mellon-nin; I think he would see this as vindication of his advice to me...’

‘Yes. And there is never a time when our lord disappoints more than when he somehow manages to appear right when his advice had been, actually, wrong and misguided...’

Lindir nodded, barely listening, trying hard not to disintegrate in front of his friend. Mel sighed.

‘Thank you for the drink, Lindir. I’ll see you at supper, I hope.’ 

He got to his feet and left, closing the door quietly after him while Lindir struggled to find some way to hold together the broken shards of his hopes and fears and work out which was which.

*

By the time the dinner bell rang, Melpomaen had been busy. Reasoning it would be easier for Lindir if the rest of the minstrel’s friends new how things stood, he made a point of telling Glorfindel and Erestor, who passed the word on to the twins.

‘So there will be no pretending everything is all right, because it is not,’ Erestor said, hoping Glorfindel was listening, too. ‘But if he asks do we know – yes, we do. It is all right to say so. But do, please, try to be tactful!’

Lindir appeared at table feeling calmer, at least. After all, there was nothing else to be done; Kovalia – Mesri – was in the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds, and he was in the husk of Imladris, and whatever news Melpomaen had brought, they were still separated by too many miles for it to matter.

Besides, his friends, he knew, would be worried about him if he didn’t appear to be all right.

So he tried to eat, even though he had no appetite, and hid behind the wine goblet perhaps a little too much.

During the meal, Erestor tried to steer the conversation towards dull, mundane topics, but there was too much curiosity about Melpomaen’s travels for it to be a complete success.

‘Erestor!’ Elladan protested at one point. ‘Why do you wish to ask about the weather for tomorrow, when you are not going anywhere and besides, if it did rain, you have a perfectly good hood on your cloak? I want to hear about my sister... is she as big as a house, yet?’

‘I really wouldn’t like to say,’ Melpomaen said, grinning. ‘But it would depend on the size of the house... somewhere between a cottage and a villa, I would say. Not quite a mansion...’

Elrohir burst out laughing.

‘Ai, poor Arwen! And she was always so light of foot...!’

‘She is joyous, though,’ Mel said. ‘And her husband the king most attentive.’

‘Ah,’ Erestor said, desperately seeking a safer topic than pregnant females. ‘And how is Aragorn...?’

‘I wonder whose child will be born first,’ Lindir said, a little too quickly, a little too loudly. ‘Arwen’s, or... or that of Lady Mesri...’

Silence. Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged glances. The twins hunched identical, awkward shoulders which made Rusdir hide a smile. It was left to Melpomaen to reply.

‘I think, in fact, Lady Mesri. Comparing the... the profiles of the ladies, Lady Arwen seems to have the advantage. Of course, human children are born sooner than elven... it could be argued that Arwen, with her elvish blood, would take longer, but... well...’

Lindir nodded as if Mel had managed a sensible answer.

‘It will be a momentous day for Gondor when Arwen’s child is born,’ he said. ‘A true uniting of north and south, of Eldar and Edain.’

‘It’s no wonder Adar wanted to stay behind,’ Elrohir said. ‘Did he give any idea, Mel, how much longer he was staying?’

And, at last, the conversation grew safe. Erestor relaxed and allowed himself to request another glass of wine; it drained the flagon, which surprised him as Glorfindel (the usual culprit) had been comparatively abstemious for once. The servant went apologetically for another flagon, topping up Lindir’s goblet for him too.

As they rose to make their way to the Hall of Fire, the advisor found Glorfindel holding him back a fraction after the others.

‘I’m not happy about Lindir,’ he said softly. ‘He’s too quiet, trying too hard.’

‘And drinking too deep. Yes, I noticed. Obviously he does not wish us to fuss over him; we should respect his reticence for the moment, I think. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next day...’

‘Or perhaps Mel will talk to him for us.’

Erestor nodded. It would be a relief to allow someone else to worry about Lindir.

Lindir had gone to the harp without being asked, and was playing softly, gentle melodies to soothe the air. He didn’t sing, simply he let his fingers stroke the strings into musical beauty, and after watching him for a few minutes, Glorfindel shrugged and turned his attention to Melpomaen.

‘Now, you’ve told us just enough to keep us on the edge of our seats all evening, Mel, so let’s have it now, properly; what’s going on with Kovalia? Mesri? Whoever she is?’

‘Her name is Mesri, but she is Lindir’s Kovalia; the language...’

‘Ah. And pregnant? Not just, oh, a cushion stuffed up her from in emulation of the Queen of Gondor? A fashion thing?’

‘Sadly, no. She is most certainly with child. But such things are celebrated, and with so many people dying young of this fire-lung sickness, it would be important for her to have an heir... Elrond asked, and was told, Lady Mesri is married...’

‘I don’t suppose that could be a mistake, could it?’ Glorfindel said. ‘I shouldn’t think so... but I know, I wish it might be. Our poor friend...’

‘Was he very distressed?’ Erestor asked.

‘He was very staunch,’ Mel said. ‘I think he had begun to wonder about the practicalities of trying to forge a future with her; obviously, Lady Mesri’s place is in her fiefdom. And Lindir’s home is here.’

‘They say home is where the heart is,’ Glorfindel said. ‘But I’m not sure, myself.’

‘But everything went well?’ Erestor said. ‘And Briot is dead, the one who mauled Lindir, too?’

‘Yes with a few others... it was quite exciting, in a scary sort of way... Glorfindel, I was so glad you taught me your tricks...’

‘What do you mean, penneth?’ the seneschal asked, his voice silken and wary. ‘You didn’t have to do any fighting, did you?’

‘Well, you know I said earlier, Briot tried to make a run for it...? He saw the guards starting to converge on him, I saw him wave to a couple of his chums... then he made a dive for the door... only I was standing in front of it at the time so he got me in a headlock and dragged me out...’

‘You were the hostage?’

‘Yes. Of course, he had no idea how strong elves are... So I let him haul me along until we were outside where there would be a clearer shot for the guards. Then I stamped on his foot and bit his arm at the same time I elbowed him somewhere... Eru knows where it, but it was squishy and horrible... and then I lifted my feet off the ground so he was carrying all my weight. He dropped me, but by this time there were arrows in the air so I just stayed down until it was all over. I didn’t get chance to bend his fingers back, though.’

‘Melpomaen! Does Lindir know?’

Mel shook his head. ‘I only said someone was grabbed... he was so worried about me going anyway, I didn’t want to make it worse... I suppose it doesn’t really matter now, though. Listen! Lindir, he’s playing his song for Kovalia...’

The melody swelled and soared over the voices of the hall, Lindir’s haunting melody cascading around, beautiful and melancholic and by the end of it, Lindir was weeping openly.

But that didn’t matter, because by the end of it, so were most of his friends.

*

Two or three tunes more, and Lindir stilled the harp. He drained the goblet that had been at his elbow, constantly topped up by passing servants, and came across to his friends.

‘It’s time I said goodnight, mellyn-nin.’ He sounded tired and resigned, his smile sad. ‘For it has been a long day. Melpomaen, I am glad you are home. And... I am pleased all is well with my friend...’

‘Thank you, Lindir.’ Mel began to get to his feet. ‘Shall I walk with you to your rooms?’

‘No, stay, enjoy the rest of your evening. I might work on my song for a little, perhaps; I think I know the last verse, now.’

Glorfindel swore softly under his breath as Linder walked away, listing ever so slightly. Erestor shook his head.

‘Suddenly, I’m not looking forward to hearing the finished song quite as much,’ he said.


	33. Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor is worried...

‘Are you sure about this, Erestor?’ Glorfindel asked. 

‘Yes; I didn’t like how Lindir looked as he left; if he is finishing his song for Kovalia tonight, it will not leave him in happy mood and I am anxious. But I do not wish to intrude, you are more his friend than I, and your room is next door...’

‘Even though you want me to move back to my old rooms...’

‘Hush; Bilbo’s rooms are along here, too; you would not wish to wake him...’

Glorfindel fell into a guilty silence; the hobbit was a dear member of the Rivendell community and was now very old, and very short-tempered when his daily routine was disturbed. Since the destruction of the Ring he had carried for so long, he had almost entirely lived in his rooms and was visited regularly by members of the household. Nobody, however, dared break into his hours of peace.

‘Poor little fellow,’ he said softly, once past the point of danger. ‘He’ll sail soon, I think?’

‘Probably when Elrond goes,’ Erestor said. ‘Anyway, listen; can you hear...?’

As they approached Lindir’s rooms the soft sound of someone trying to cry quietly reached into the corridor. Erestor shook his head and sighed.

‘I am worried; you need to go to him, Glorfindel.’

‘I? This is your idea!’

‘Yes, but he is more comfortable with you; oh, go on, do; we can’t let him suffer alone!’

Glorfindel tapped on the door and pushed it open a little.

‘Lindir? It’s just me.’

No response; Lindir continued weeping and as Glorfindel entered the room he saw that the minstrel was in bed, curled around his sorrow and facing away. In the moonlight every bone of his spine stood out in stark relief, milky white and blue shadow, his hair a dark veil across his shoulders.

The seneschal made his way around the bed, looking towards Erestor for reassurance, support, any kind of clue what to do; Erestor shook his head and pointed at Lindir, lifting his lantern. 

With a ‘don’t-blame-me’ shrug Glorfindel dropped to his knees at the bedside and reached out to gently pat Lindir’s shaking shoulder.

‘Hush, now, penneth,’ he began, but could go no further as Lindir fell abruptly silent and then launched himself at the seneschal, wrapping his arms tight around him and fastening his mouth on Glorfindel’s in a hot, and somewhat wetly exuberant kiss.

It was wonderful and it was wildly erotic and desperate and perfect and for a heart-stopping, heart-breaking instant, Glorfindel kissed him back, all their mutual loneliness and longing combining in the moment... but it wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be right and so Glorfindel tenderly stroked the hair back from Lindir’s shoulder and gently brought his fingers to bear on the pressure point at his neck...

The arms relaxed their desperate grip, the mouth slackened and Glorfindel was able to ease free and settle Lindir gently down on his back amongst the pillows.

‘Easy, there, Lindir, there you are... hush now, just rest... that’s it... what happened was, penneth, you were upset about the news, you were so brave... but you drank a little too much and you’re not used to strong wine, Lindir, there, just relax... too much wine, and you cried yourself to sleep, poor Lindir, of course you did, but the wine and the sadness... you had a very strange dream, penneth, just a dream about Glorfindel, and you know it’s a dream because you only kiss females, you don’t think of males that way, even though Glorfindel is the most beautiful...’

From the doorway, Erestor cleared his throat.

‘Well. Even though Glorfindel is your friend, you don’t think of him like that, it’s just your fëa trying to make sense of things, just a wine-dream, penneth...’

Lindir whimpered and Glorfindel eased him onto his side, pulling the covers up high over his bare shoulders. 

‘There you are, that’s better... no more silly dreams now, penneth, you sleep well.’

Glorfindel crept around the bed to exit the chamber, pulling the door shut behind him and shrugging at Erestor.

‘It’s a good thing I was first to his bedside, what with you being a respectable married ellon and all that...’

‘My study,’ Erestor said in clipped and brittle tones. ‘Now.’ 

‘Good, because...’

‘And not a word, not one word before we get there.’

The seneschal shrugged; that was fine by him... but he was going to have to try to be the first to speak or he’d end up getting a terrible and, from his perspective, entirely undeserved scold...

On the way he made a detour to filch a couple of bottles of wine from a servant’s trolley; Erestor stared at him but, not one word... he grinned and shrugged and caught up.

In his study, Erestor set down his lamp and lit several others before taking his seat with dreadful menace. Glorfindel took a breath and let out all his collected words.

‘...best if I don’t go back to the room next to Lindir’s tonight, hope he doesn’t have nightmares...’

‘What, worse nightmares than dreaming about you kissing him...?’

‘Ah, now, wait a moment... he kissed me...’

‘You did not need to let him...’

‘...and very nice too, lovely, in fact, he’s really very sweet and has such pretty, tragic eyes... well, I couldn’t just break off, it would have disturbed him, made him too aware of what he was doing... as it was, Námo special, and there we are...’

‘And that’s your answer, is it? That’s what you’re going to tell him tomorrow? That he drank too deep and dreamed it all...?’

‘No.’ Glorfindel grinned suddenly. ‘That’s what he’s going to tell us. Or some of us. Or possibly none of us, it just depends, and it’s no good looking so prim and proper and outraged, Erestor, yes, I would have loved to let him kiss me, to cuddle him a bit and try to make him feel better... but we both know Lindir’s never been attracted to males, even before what happened to him... and after everything, he isn’t going to start now, is he? Look, he was just a bit... a bit lost in all the tears, and we’ve bonded, we’re good friends... he merely needed some affection. If I’d let it go on, well, tomorrow he’d have been devastated... and that wouldn’t have done him any good at all. Or me, come to think of it, I do have my pride...’

Unable to help himself, Erestor found himself smiling. He hid it, however.

‘Do you so, Glorfindel? It can be difficult to tell, at times...’

‘Ah, now, that’s the Advisor of Imladris we all know and love so well!’ Glorfindel grinned and dropped himself into a chair, uncorking one of his wine bottles and proffering it. ‘Want some?’

‘What, a random bottle snatched from the side table? I thank you, but I will decline.’

‘Right.’ Glorfindel took a gulp from the neck of the bottle. ‘Not bad, really. Well, I’ve had worse... Erestor... I think you were right about going back to my old room. But after tonight, I can’t just move out, Lindir will think it’s his fault... which it is, but I don’t want him worrying about why... Just give me the order tomorrow, and I’ll pack up, meek as you like, and trot off back to my old rooms. Better view, anyway.’

Erestor sighed and poured himself a glass of spirits from a decanter. He sipped slowly and gestured to his friend.

‘You see, had you waited, I would have offered you a cup of this...’

‘It’s for sipping, though; I’m more in the mood to swig, I think. I need to get drunk after this evening...’

‘You’re right, of course, about moving rooms, you must... but how to do so if Lindir remembers tonight...? In fact, how to do so...? You declined when first I suggested Elrond would expect you in your right place, and that moment has now passed... find me another reason to tell you, ‘Fin, and I will gladly be as autocratic and annoying about it as you need me to be. But you will have to come up with a reason...’

‘I’m working on one.’ Glorfindel lifted his bottle again. ‘You might not like it, but, well, that’s the point, really... Is everyone still at it in the Hall of Fire?’

‘Melpomaen will be holding forth for some time, I think, now Lindir has gone and he doesn’t need to watch his words... besides, it’s not really late yet. In fact, Arveldir is expecting me to join him... whatever you do, Glorfindel, do try not to cause Lindir any more distress; I know it probably was not your fault he kissed you, but you have been looking as if you rather need to be kissed, you know...’

Glorfindel sighed, shaking his golden head.

‘Frankly, Erestor, I’m lonely. I know, it’s over with my Silvan, he’s got amazing things ahead of him and he can’t be amazing if I’m there being in the way... and I understand, I think it’s the right thing... but it doesn’t stop me being lonely, from wanting... I’m not looking for love, Erestor – I have my Ecthelion waiting, but I don’t want to sail yet, not with so much still to be settled here. The lads will need us both when Elrond goes... no, I just want – need – a little companionship...’

‘Perhaps, in time, Lindir will release his love for his Kovalia into memory. And then, perhaps, he will decide some things he had thought could not be, might...’

‘No, Erestor; we both know it really isn’t going to happen...’

‘Well. What do you think of Melpomaen?’

‘Nice young thing. Kind to Lindir... perhaps, if Lindir were ever going to change his tastes...’

‘Fool!’ Erestor sounded truly exasperated. ‘I meant for you, idiot!’

‘For... for me..? Oh, I... he wouldn’t... he’s Lindir’s friend...’

‘And so are you. Before he went away, Glorfindel, did you never see him looking at you?’

‘Um... no, can’t say I did...’

‘Well, he was. All those trips up to look at the mesri – the kovalia plant, he always perked up whenever he heard you were going, too. And it was you he asked for fighting tips...’

‘Well, I am the seneschal...’

‘All I am saying is, if you are lonely, you may find a kindred heart in Melpomaen.’ Erestor finished his drink and got to his feet. ‘If you need somewhere to sleep tonight, the sofa is comfortable. But whatever nefarious plan you concoct – I wish you well with it... and myself far away when it comes to fruition. Goodnight, mellon-nin. And... good luck.’


	34. Bilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo is woken by a disturbance...

‘You seem to have lost Glorfindel, my dear,’ Arveldir said when Erestor returned alone. ‘What have you done with him, stuffed him in a linen hamper somewhere?’

‘No, but that is rather a good idea, come to think of it.’ Erestor found a smile for his spouse. ‘I wanted him to come with me to check up on Lindir, but... well, I will tell YOU all about that later...’

‘Intriguing... but come, Melpomaen was telling many interesting stories of Elrond’s efforts with the language; I am sure you will enjoy them...’  
Erestor allowed himself to be led into the conversation, and sat with every appearance of composure, sipping a glass of wine and listening attentively to Melpomaen’s tales.

‘You seem to have enjoyed your adventure,’ he said. ‘Your narrow escape from Briot notwithstanding...’

‘Oh, I wasn’t worried, Glorfindel had shown me all his tricks and besides, we were in the main building surrounded by elves and warriors of Gondor; what could have gone wrong?’

‘What do you think of travelling now, may I ask? Would you, perhaps, consider sailing?’

‘One day, yes, probably. In the right company, at the right time. Not with Elrond.’ He gave a little grimace. ‘I do not think he is the best of travelling companions; there is always something up with the food, or the wine, or the beds, and someone else has to sort it out...’

Erestor nodded. ‘Welcome to my world,’ he said. ‘Or rather, mine and Lindir’s. Our friend has expended much energy, over the years, helping run the Last Homely House to Elrond’s satisfaction.’

‘Poor Lindir! I don’t mean trying to organise the house for Elrond, of course, I mean... well. If there is any way to help him, to distract him from his disappointment...’

‘We must, I think, pay heed to his tone and take our actions from him. It may be he needs time to adjust to the idea that Kovalia – Mesri, that is – that she is beyond his reach. Or he may wish to talk, but it may not be for a few days, perhaps; he might wish to internalise his disappointment first. That you would be his friend – that so many of us would stand his friend – must, in time, be of some comfort, one would hope.’

Talk drifted and flowed and began, finally to ebb. Elrohir excused himself.

‘Because all the excitement of having Mel back with us has quite tired me out; it’s a good job I have a sweetheart to help me home, isn’t it?’

After the goodnights had been said, Elladan suggested more wine. 

‘Or have we done enough welcoming Melpomaen home for one night?’

‘I think, perhaps it is time we retired,’ Erestor said. ‘You go on; Arveldir and I will see the hall set to rights.’

The hall emptied. Arveldir put an arm around Erestor’s shoulders and cuddled him gently.

‘I love these moments,’ he said. ‘The quiet, knowing the house is all abed and calm... the sense of a day finished in peace...’

At which point, with impeccable timing, a raised voice fractured the calm of the moment with outraged volume...

_‘Confusticate and bebother these elves! Glorfindel, what are you doing lying on the floor there? Singing? Singing? If that is singing, then the draining of my bathtub is a melody fit to equal Lindir’s finest playing! Now shut up and get up and go to bed! Leave a tired old hobbit in peace!’_

‘Ah. Bilbo,’ Erestor murmured. ‘How odd, it was only an hour or so ago I was reminding Glorfindel not to be noisy lest he disturb our elderly guest...’

‘Quite a coincidence; do we need to intervene or may we simply go the long way home?’

Erestor thought longingly of bed, and Arveldir in it with him, and reminded himself he had a duty to all of Imladris...

‘No, I think tonight, I had better intrude...’

He set off with a sigh, Arveldir at his side, and presently they reached the location of the disturbance; it made for quite a sight. Sprawled across the junction between Bilbo’s corridor and the passage leading to Lindir and Glorfindel’s rooms, the seneschal was grinning up at a little cluster of persons around him. Bilbo, arms akimbo and with a fierce expression on his usually genial face was tapping one bare foot on the flagstones while Elladan and Elrohir were enjoying watching Melpomaen and Rusdir trying to help Glorfindel up. The seneschal, however, had other ideas and kept slipping out of their grasp like an oiled piglet.

‘No, no, lea’ me ‘lone, nice ‘n comfytubble... _“Here I sit, the jug goes round and”_... oh, h’lo Erestorrr...’

‘What now, Glorfindel?’

‘Jus’ havin’ little rest, ‘n... ‘n Roh... kicked me...!’

‘I tripped,’ Elrohir protested. ‘Over your stupidly long legs sticking out into the corridor!’

‘Any...anyway, he kicked me, and I thought... time for a li’l song...’

‘You see what I have to put up with?’ Bilbo protested. ‘Where is Elrond? I’ll have a thing or two to say to him...’

‘Elrond is from home, dear Bilbo,’ Erestor said, glancing along the corridor; Lindir’s door had softly opened, the minstrel looking out at the disturbance. 

‘But permit me to assist. Glorfindel, you will have to return to your old quarters.’

‘Wha’...?’

‘Now. Tonight.’

‘Aw...’restor...’ 

‘On your feet, if you please!’

Glorfindel staggered up, helped by the twins while Erestor apologised again to the hobbit.

‘Perhaps Melpomaen can escort you back to your rooms, if you wish.’

‘I would be glad to help, Master Bilbo. It’s only Glorfindel, after all.’

‘Yes, well, all right then... but see it doesn’t happen again!’

‘What is happening? Is Glorfindel all right, has he fallen and hit his head?’

Lindir’s soft voice almost went unheard, but Glorfindel had seen the minstrel’s approach and waved enthusiastically.

‘Lindi’, hello! Coming to the party?’

‘Party?’

‘There is no party,’ Erestor said firmly. ‘Lord Glorfindel is being taken to his proper rooms so that he does not disturb the house again! Really, Glorfindel...’

‘Can I...? C’n I jus’ get my towels?’ For a moment Glorfindel lost the drunken slur. ‘I really need my towels, Erestor...’

‘Oh, very well! Where are they?’

‘In the drawers.’

‘May I help?’ Lindir said. ‘I know where, I was there when Glorfindel put them away, once.’

‘Lindir, that’s kind of you. My thanks.’ Erestor glared at the seneschal. ‘You wait there, Glorfindel, and I will bring them.’

Lindir looked around and shook his head when they entered Glorfindel’s room.

‘I thought... It is all very tidy... but was Glorfindel not in here earlier?’

‘To my knowledge, no. He was with us for some time in the hall, and then went seeking some wine... ’ Erestor began to see the direction of Glorfindel’s machinations. ‘The bed has not been slept in, as you see. In fact, the room is, as you say, very tidy... are those the towels?’ He accepted from Lindir a stack of towels, some blue with decorated edges, one or two very old and faded. ‘I will say goodnight to you, then. In fact, I am surprised you are still up, Lindir; I had not thought Glorfindel might have disturbed you, too?’

‘I... no. I was asleep, but I had... had a very strange dream, I... to my shame, I may have had too much wine this evening...’ The minstrel’s voice changed, became almost dreamy, a little chant. ‘I do not often drink so deep... I had a strange dream, that is all, just a dream, a dream of Glorfindel, but of course, I do not think of him so, even though he is the most b... the kindest of friends... I am sorry, Erestor, you were saying?’

‘I was saying thank you for your help, Lindir. I will bid you goodnight now. I am sorry to rob you of your neighbour, but really, he cannot be allowed to disturb poor Bilbo...’

‘Dear old Hobbit! Of course Master Bilbo’s peace and quiet must be of the first consideration. Goodnight then, Erestor.’


	35. Hangovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many of the elves exhibit symptoms of suffering following the events of the previous evening...

Breakfast the following morning was protracted and quiet, Erestor noted. Melpomaen came in early and set a jug of his own fruit-based restorative next to Mistress Laindis’ hangover cure, spoke a cheerful and not-at-all-hungover greeting to Erestor and Arveldir, and sat down to partake of a hearty breakfast. Elladan arrived next, perhaps a little the worse for wear, and contented himself with a nod and a glass of Melpomaen’s brew.

‘You are not eating, Elladan?’ Erestor asked.

‘Not yet; my thanks to Mel for the cure, and food will be good in twenty minutes or so.’

Lindir drifted in next, a ghost of himself, his under-eyes a weary grey bordering on purple; more than simply too much wine was in his face, there was a hint of too much weeping as well... Erestor remember the scene he had unwillingly witnessed, wondered idly what would have happened if he had not been there... then realised all would have been exactly the same; Glorfindel, for all his loneliness, would not have taken advantage. 

He smiled softly at the minstrel as he brought his meal to the table; dry toast and a glass of water.

‘Would you like some of Melpomaen’s most excellent tonic, Lindir?’ he asked. ‘I am going to get something for myself, it is no trouble...’

‘Thank you, no, I... it is not so much the wine, and if it were, I deserve to...’

‘Come to my studio later, Lindir, and I’ll mix you something more fitting to what ails you,’ Melpomaen said.

‘Thank you. If... if you’re not going to be busy...’

‘For you, mellon-nyn? Of course not! Come, try to eat something; it will help.’

The minstrel had managed half a piece of toast when Elrohir staggered in, supported by Rusdir who didn’t look exactly in rude health himself.

‘Oh, I feel terrible! I am sure the not-elven side of me has caught some dreadful illness...’

‘No, it is called a hangover, and it is not the first you have had, but will you learn...?’ Erestor shook his head. ‘Restoratives on the table, you will feel better presently.’

‘Of course he will feel better presently!’ Elladan said. ‘Which is why he never learns... and, of course, he leads poor Rusdir astray, too, and he is still not used to our brews here...’

Rusdir shook his head carefully.

‘No, indeed, the beers and wines we drink in the Greenwood traditionally are brewed and crafted with great care as to omit the impurities within which are thought to cause the worst excesses of suffering... these lesser brews are contaminated with all manner of impurities...’

‘Or you could drink less,’ Elladan suggested.

‘But it would be ill-mannered, when my Elrohir imbibes freely, not to match him, drink for drink...’

‘Ai! And so you had the same and he has the worst hangover...?’

‘I tell you, it is the human side of me...’

Conversation drifted, settled as the assembled elves ate and drank, some of them looking better after food and restoratives, some of them looking just as poorly as before. Arveldir and Erestor, who were not suffering at all, kept the talk going with gentle consideration for the various levels of hangover at the table. Nobody remarked that Glorfindel was not present; indeed, Erestor mused, nobody, it seemed, had noticed.

Nobody except himself, Arveldir (who missed nothing, ever) and Melpomaen, who spoke quietly to Erestor on his way from the hall.

‘I wonder if our seneschal has broken his fast in his rooms this morning as he used to do? Would it be an intrusion, do you think, if I were to go and see if he is in need of a tonic himself?’

Privately, Erestor was of the opinion that Glorfindel’s drunken exhibition of the previous night had largely been pretended, but he nodded anyway; it was, after all, entirely possible that the seneschal had resorted to the bottle after he had returned to his chambers.

‘I am sure it would be a kindness for you to check on him; it is past his usual hour of rising, wine notwithstanding. If he needs ought from me, I will be in my study for the next hour, the library after that.’

Melpomaen nodded.

‘I will go now, then, and see how he is.’

Collecting a beaker of his restorative concoction from the table, just in case, he made his way through the house to Glorfindel’s official rooms, knocking on the door and waiting for a reply before entering.

The seneschal was standing on the balcony, his back to the room, looking out over the valley. He didn’t look round, didn’t even beckon, just began to talk so that Mel was drawn towards him.

‘Back in my old chambers again, pity really, but I suppose it’s got to be… come and stand with me, Mel, look out over the valley… it’s already a bit tired, don’t you think? That’s me, too, perhaps, looking tired…’

‘If anyone has the right to, then it’s you, Glorfindel. Are you quite well this morning?’

Glorfindel took a deep breath, kept his eyes fixed on his view, and started talking again.

‘Me? Fine… well, no, I’m not, I feel terrible, but it’s not a hangover, and that’s what you’re thinking… Lindir kissed me, Mel, oh, and I… Erestor was worried about him last night, he’d been drinking, you remember, deeper than normal, and so Erestor dragged me along to see if he was in need of anything… sent me in when we heard… heard the poor fellow crying. Went to try and help and he just sort of… launched himself at me and, oh, hardest thing I ever had to do was make him stop… Námo special, all I could think of, well, I couldn’t let… I… it wouldn’t have been right… told him a story, tried to get him to think he’d been dreaming and it was only because he was lonely and sad and he just needed contact with someone… reason I’m telling you, Melpomaen, is that you love him, don’t you? Erestor said, he saw you looking at me before you went away, but it wasn’t me, was it? It was Lindir. So you need to know, Mel, if he comes to you with a tale of kisses, it wasn’t me, and I wouldn’t, I… so lonely lately, Mel, don’t know what’s up with me, really… you’d think I’d be used to it by now…’

Melpomaen put his arm around Glorfindel’s shoulders and gave him a gentle hug.

‘Yes, I’m in love with Lindir,’ he said. ‘All that time spent together, trying to help him, and finding, no, it wasn’t just the healer in me responding to his pain, it was my heart reacting to his fëa… then all those hours learning the language at his side, knowing he loved his Kovalia… so it doesn’t matter. Even though she’s married, although Lindir knows it, well, you know Lindir; he won’t let a little thing like that stop him from pining for her…’

Glorfindel chuckled softly.

‘Ah, that’s our Lindir… why we’re so fond of him, of course, his loyalty, how determined he is to keep loving her no matter what. That was the other thing with the kiss, of course he’s only ever been drawn to females. But…’

‘No, that’s not quite right, Findel,’ Mel said. ‘Lindir believes he’s only drawn to females; there’s a difference. And perhaps, things being what they are here, that’s safest for him. But there is that within him that seeks the truth of a person, and their gender would not matter, just as, with Kovalia, the fact that she is human did not matter to him. But, of course, given his terrible ordeal, I agree he is unlikely to seek male affection. I foresee a long and lonely future ahead, even if he were to find some way to get over her.’

Mel sighed and dropped his arm to stand next to Fin at the balcony, looking out.

‘Thank you for telling me, though; should he mention his dream, well, you were the one who supported him most afterwards, you acted as his protector; who else would he dream of?’ The healer in Melpomaen kicked in suddenly, reading waves of tiredness and sorrow from the seneschal at his side. ‘And what of you, Glorfindel? Did you sleep at all last night?’

‘No. Didn’t think it’d be a good idea, really. I had the feeling I’d only wake up again shouting, and the house had had enough of a disturbed night already…’

‘You said you’ve been feeling lonely. Are you missing your captain, still?’

‘No… yes… little bit… oh, it’s not him, Mel… it was the right thing to do, let him go off and be amazing, but it feels at the moment…’ He sighed and leaned forward over his clasped hands, turning his head to look at the young healer. ‘There must have been a point on your journey when Gondor seemed a long way behind you and the Fiefdom forever away, and you weren’t sure what you would find when you got there, yes? Well, that’s me at the moment. Triwathon is in my past now, and when we meet – if we meet – it’s going to be entirely different, impersonal, almost, it has to be… but Ecthelion… Ecthelion is so far in my future I can’t imagine how I’m ever going to get there and…’

He broke off and stumbled back into his rooms. Melpomaen followed, hearing the chink of a glass stopper and guessed Glorfindel had decided strong spirits was as good a way as any to break his fast.

‘I have a restorative here, Findel,’ he said. ‘It will be better for you, I think…’

‘All right. Let’s see if it mixes with the good stuff, shall we?’ 

He held out his goblet. With a smile, Mel took it from him, poured his restorative fruit cordial concoction into a fresh beaker and held it out. 

‘Try that first,’ he said. ‘Findel – I am sure you are right, that Triwathon is in your past. But that does not mean you do not mind, or do not miss him. Of course, I do not know what it was like when you first met him…’

‘Amazing,’ Glorfindel said, lifting the beaker and drinking absently, pulling a face as he realised its contents were non-alcoholic. ‘At first, he was shy and quiet… fell utterly in love with him as only an old fool can fall in love with a young buck… managed to only be silly about him in private, though, I wasn’t that big a fool. And then over the years it settled, it was nice, the edge gone off it a bit, you know? But then the dragon under the mountain, and the War of the Ring and it was such a long time that when he turned up…’

‘When he turned up, it was like the first days all over again for you, without any of the time in between. Although you will say I am too young to know from experience, I have seen it, I know it happens. And that the reason why you were able to let him go was that a part of you realised you were no longer in love with him, for all it felt like it; it was just that you needed someone and he was there, and it was all fresh and new again, but changed because he was a hero now…’

‘Yes. But it wore off, and I knew… I knew it would deepen, if I let it, if I kept in touch, and it might get too much, too deep. And I didn’t have a future to offer him, only a present. And I don’t know, I didn’t understand why I could be so close to him and yet still say I love Ecthelion, and I still don’t know how I can say it, not really, but I feel it, I know he’s the one and I’m going home to him one day…’

‘Because you know you always were going to go home to him, one day.’

‘Going to have a lot of explaining to do. Even though he set me free from our vows, I never thought I’d need that freedom, that I’d ever want… I suppose I was in a new body, a new world and he’s… he’s dead, he’s still dead, as far as I know, I think, oh, he should be alive again by now, but surely I’d know, I’d feel it? Oh, Mel, Ecthelion might still be dead…’

There was so much anguished sorrow in Glorfindel’s voice that Mel reached out to lay a hand on his arm.

‘You could Sail, you know. Elrond keep saying he’s going soon…’

‘Do not expect to put me on a ship with our glorious lord and for us both to land unscathed…!’

Melpomaen laughed.

‘Well, we could go now. You, me, Lindir… just run for the Havens, jump on a ship…’

‘And Cirdan would say, oh, if you wait a bit, Elrond will be along, you can go together, won’t that be nice? And even if we did… I don’t think Lindir’s ready yet…’

‘No, I think you’re right; I think he would regret it as soon as he boarded. If, indeed, he would even go as far as leaving with us.’

Glorfindel nodded, glad of the change of subject; Lindir was a much safer topic than his own contorted love life…

‘What are we going to do with Lindir, Mel? Leave him be to mope, try to be his friends… talk to him about Kovalia – Mesri, whoever she is? Not talk about her?’

‘Be guided by him, I think. Findel… if I were to move to the room next to his, would you mind?’

‘Me?’ No, not at all! I know when Erestor first mentioned my moving back here I was all against it, but after last night…’

‘Ah, and that’s what that scene in the corridor was about, wasn’t it? A reason for Erestor to insist you come back here, to get you away from Lindir’s rooms after his… his dream?’

‘I don’t think I could have pushed him away again. I know I wouldn’t have wanted to, but it’s not because it’s him, just because I’m so…’

‘Lonely.’

‘…selfish, I was going to say.’

‘No, I think it was quite the opposite.’ Melpomaen considered for a moment. ‘Glorfindel, what you need is a bed-friend.’

Glorfindel snorted restorative fruit cordial out of his nose.

‘With Elrond on the prowl? And just who do you suggest?’

‘Someone who knows how to avoid Elrond’s prowling, perhaps.’ Mel paused. ‘If I think of someone, shall I let you know?’

‘All right. If he’s pretty, all right. But I don’t want any Silvans, do you hear? Or Galadhrim, if any turn up. Or it would have to be someone I could look in the eye next day. Someone I wouldn’t feel ashamed of telling Ecthelion about. Maybe… maybe someone who’s a bit lonely, if you can find anyone. But… but not yet, it’d seem wrong, Mel. We need to get Lindir back on his feet first. I’m not in as bad a case as he is, after all.’

‘I’ll keep your requirements in mind, Findel,’ Melpomaen said, smiling. ‘Well, I told Lindir I would be available to him if he needed someone to talk to; I had better go.’

Glorfindel nodded.

‘And thank you, Mel; you’re lovely to talk to, you know. Feel a bit better now.’

‘Certainly better than you would if you’d hit your stomach with strong spirits before you’d eaten! If you hurry, there might be some food left in the dining hall.’


	36. Sublimating...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melpomaen does some thinking...

Midmorning, and Mel was in his rooms when Lindir’s soft tap came at his door. He smiled to himself and swung the kettle over the hearth to heat before going to open the door.

‘Come in, Lindir,’ he said. ‘Are you feeling better yet? You look a little less wan.’

‘Thank you, I do not know what got into me last night, I do not usually drink so deep, I…’ Lindir’s voice took on a strange tone, as if he was repeating something, and he frowned and started again. ‘It was foolish of me; perhaps the news you brought… although I was very glad to hear it from you, my friend, and not from Elrond.’

‘Well, sit down, be comfortable; it is cold in here today. That’s what comes of north facing rooms, of course; the light is pleasant, never too bold, but the wind howls around this corner with more energy than it ever did before, I am sure of it!’

‘There is plenty of space in the house now; you could move to somewhere more sheltered, perhaps?’

‘I wonder if Lord Elrond would object? But if my rooms are no longer suitable, I suppose he cannot really object.’

‘I know there are several chambers vacant near me, if… if you would like to take up lodgings on that corridor. Even the rooms next to mine; I do not think Glorfindel will be using them any time soon, not after last night…’

‘Ai, poor Master Bilbo, disturbed from his rest by Glorfindel’s drinking songs!’

Lindir dragged out a smile from somewhere.

‘He may be one of the few elves I know who could not carry a tune if you gave him a bucket to put it in, but what he lacks in musicality he makes up for in volume! In fact, his singing woke me from a… a very odd dream… he was in it, oddly enough… perhaps his singing penetrated my sleep and that is why…’ Lindir gave a little shake of his head. ‘But that does not matter. No, if you would not mind taking over the room he adopted next to mine, I am sure you would be a good neighbour to have.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Lindir! I think I can promise you no drunken singing, at least…’ And, since Lindir had brought up the subject, Mel could not help asking, ‘what was this dream, then? Not a bad one, I hope, if Findel was in it?’

‘I… well, it was… I drank too deep…’ The singsong tone was back again. ‘I dreamed I was sad, and Lord Glorfindel was there and… and I know it was a dream because I only kiss females, even though Glorfindel is the most beautiful… he is my friend, I do not think of him so… it is just a silly wine dream, that is all…’ 

Mel swallowed; it was true, Glorfindel was the most beautiful elf in all of Imladris, even if you were in love with Lindir whose sadness added a lovelier, softer look to his eyes…

Lindir shook his head. ‘But it was such a kiss! More than I… more than I remember from my night with Kovalia, so it had to be a dream…’

‘I am not surprised your thoughts turned to our dear Balrog-slayer,’ Mel said, coming back to the real point. ‘After all, when you were in need of a friend, he supported you…’

‘Everyone has supported me,’ Lindir said. ‘All my companions on the way home were considerate and kind, and everyone here has been thoughtful and helpful. But Glorfindel… he took care that I felt safe and, Mel, I must admit, one reason I suggest my corridor as a place for you to move into was that with him no longer lodging there, I do not know if I will feel safe, and with all the stirred memories… it would be a comfort to know I had a friend close at hand. Not every night, but just… just at first.’

‘Then I will be delighted to move closer to you, my friend. In fact, I will speak with Glorfindel and enlist his aid.’

‘He… he won’t mind, will he?’ Lindir said, his voice uneasy. ‘I had sometimes wondered if… if being so very protective of me has filled up some of the voids left in his life by other people; I would not like to cause him sorrow…’

‘That’s a keen observation, Lindir; I suppose he, of all of us, has known the most loss… it might be kinder if I move into the room on the other side of you, that way he will not feel I am taking his place quite so much. And I will take it upon myself to keep a weather eye on him, if it will help you feel better.’

‘I do not know what will make me feel better,’ Lindir said with a sigh. ‘But it would be one less thing to worry about, to blame myself for…’

‘But none of this is your fault! Lindir, you must see that…? Well, why do you not go back to your rooms, see if you could nap for an hour or so? I am sure you need more sleep than you seem to have managed.’

‘I… thank you, Melpomaen, but I think I will go to the library instead; Erestor seems to expect me.’

Melpomaen smiled and nodded, relieved that Lindir had suggested he move in next to him without too many hints, sighing to himself at the thought of the chamber on the other side of the minstrel – not as large by any means, and, in fact, shabbier than the rooms he currently inhabited. But it was worth it to spare Glorfindel even a little distress.

Once Lindir had gone, he made his way to the healer’s rooms for his duty shift to find the only other healer currently in Imladris clearing away from her previous patient.

‘I have dealt with two hangovers and a bumped head – said bump caused by hangover,’ she said with a smile and a shrug for the waywardness of elves. ‘And Lord Glorfindel was in. Nothing wrong; he just wanted some of the dried strawberries and cherries we keep for Lord Elrond’s special skin restorative.’

‘I hesitate to ask…’

‘For his horse; he says the ones we keep on hand are better than those in the kitchen and, as Lord Elrond intends sailing soon, he will have no need of them…’

‘I see. Well, in this case, I would agree, Asfaloth’s need is greater than Elrond’s…’

Mel went to his station and read while he waited for the next suffering elf to arrive. The other tidied up her workspace with a sigh.

‘Even with all the hangovers caused by unexpected celebrations, there is not enough work for two,’ she said, ‘not once the winter fevers are over in the human population… and it is said they are turning away from us now, to their own cures. I do not know what it will be like, when our lord is back…’ Her use of the Elrond’s title was a gentle way, Mel knew, for her to chide him for his easy way of suggesting a horse more important than his lord. ‘But there will certainly not be work for three! Have you plans to sail, do you think, when Lord Elrond goes? If you do not, I may be able to do so, perhaps.’

Mel appeared to think for a moment before replying. 

‘No, I do not think I wish to leave yet, not unless my friend Lindir is ready to sail also. And I think he might wish to wait a few more years.’

‘They say there is a human female he is attached to...’ Keen for more gossip, the healer came to sit near Mel’s workstation. ‘And that he will wait for her to die. What do you think about that? If you are his friend, you cannot approve?’

‘In fact, as Lindir’s friend, I do not think it is my place to judge his choices,’ Mel replied, trying to smile so it sounded less like the reproach it was. ‘Although I know he befriended a human lady, I have not heard anything about him waiting for her death; I wonder whence comes this tale?’

‘Whence, indeed,’ the healer said, flushing. ‘But Imladris has always been a place of open communication.’

‘Do you mean gossip? If so, I quite agree…’

‘Oh, I did not, of course… Well, that is my duty done. I think we can assume if nobody else comes in the next hour, we can stand down for the day, and put the sign up, what do you think?’

Melpomaen nodded; if there were to be an emergency, everyone in the house knew who to look for, and where they were likely to be.

‘Yes, I agree. I’ll stay until the middle day, I think. Just in case.’

Besides, he thought with an inward shrug, he could do with a little time alone to process all the feelings and emotions that were somehow crowding him today. Time to make sense of some of them, sort them out a little. Push them away, perhaps.

To begin with Glorfindel’s earlier remark that Erestor had thought Mel been looking at him, but the seneschal himself suggesting it was Lindir who had been the real object of attention… At the time, Mel had shied away from a direct reply; instead, he had answered another question and spoken of his feelings for the minstrel…

His train of thought wandered to these feelings and he spent a moment considering the deep and abiding love he felt, the attraction based on shared interests and, to a degree, experience… the friendship and the trust that had built between them… and Lindir was beautiful, in a soft and desperately sad sort of way, his voice always gentle, his heart always generous and kind… he gave so unstintingly of his time, his music, forever trying his hardest, always afraid he had not done enough… 

But, of course, the minstrel was in love with Mesri, his Kovalia, and, with such a loyal, steadfast heart, would undoubtedly remain in love with her until long after she had died and turned to dust. It was a tragedy, in its way; there was no access to Valinor for mortals, no meeting on the far shores of the Sundering Seas.

Even so, it was Lindir’s tragedy, really, not the woman’s. She had a child on the way, her fiefdom to lead; things to tie her to life and hope. Lindir had only the memory of one night, and the sweet pain of knowing he loved without hope.

But as if that was not obstacle enough for Mel’s hopes, as he had said to Findel, Lindir truly believed he was only attracted to females… 

Mel read him differently, true, and the fact that the minstrel had kissed Glorfindel seemed to bolster the argument that Lindir was one of those very special people who did not care about appearances, but for the person behind them. For otherwise, why kiss? Why not just cling and weep and allow himself to be comforted in a less romantic way? No, there was something more there, but it probably wouldn’t help Lindir to mention it. Particularly as the minstrel still seemed to think it was a dream…

So what could Melpomaen do, except put aside his longings and provide the best support he could to his sad-eyed friend? 

And as to Erestor’s original comment, that he’d seen Mel looking at Glorfindel… well, of course Melpomaen had been looking; who wouldn’t? 

Tall and broad across the shoulders, golden hair waving like brassy wheat stirred by the wind, the eyes that saw too much, had always seen too much… the courage of his fëa, the light of his smile, the rough and ready kindness and willingness always to listen, to try to help… 

Findel was going home to his forever love one day, of course, but meanwhile, he was lonely, and Mel was longing, and Lindir was sad; there had to be an answer there, didn’t there? 

Of course, Elrond would have all kinds of fits if he knew Mel’s secret, unarticulated thoughts; not only was there his disapproval of alternative relationships, there was the fact that he wanted every Noldo to behave to the highest moral standards… it was the human blood, it made him want to out-elf every elf on Middle Earth. But Mel had a more relaxed approach. He felt more as he had heard the Silvans say, yes, once you find your One, vow yourself to them forever. Or at least until you sail, or if one of you dies. And meanwhile, what’s the harm in having a little fun, because you might not know someone is your One, your fëa-mate, until you’ve got to know each other a bit, yes?

True, it was an attitude Mel had found vaguely disturbing, at first, but then, when he thought about it, why not? Besides, he was a healer, he knew people had needs and longings that were entirely natural… and he had no taint of human blood in his veins, just a little hint of Avari from long ago and he blamed that for his slightly unconventional perspectives.

His current situation, for instance…

He had already learned how to put his longing for Lindir to one side in order to function as his friend and now, as he sublimated his feelings further, they combined with his acknowledged appreciation of Glorfindel’s many attractions… when he had suggested Glorfindel to get a bed-friend, he really had believed he had been thinking just of the seneschal’s well-being, but now he wondered what had really prompted him to suggest it, and found he was running Glorfindel’s requirements through his mind again, wondering whether he could apply them to himself… after all, one thing he could promise; he wasn’t going to fall inappropriately in love with Findel, not when it had already happened to him with Lindir…

Not yet, though; Glorfindel had said it was too soon yet, they needed to make sure Lindir was all right first.

Mel shook his head and reached for one of the teaching scrolls he’d been reviewing; that was enough musing, he needed to do something a little more constructive.

But it was difficult not to think about Glorfindel, and possibly helping him through his loneliness.

Except why would Glorfindel, with his handsome captain behind him, his beautiful Ecthelion ahead, be bothered with someone as insignificant as himself?


	37. Moving Rooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel helps Melpomaen...

Glorfindel reined in outside the stables and slid down from Asfaloth’s back, leading him into his stall.

He waved away the stable hand. ‘You see to his feed and water, I’ll see to the rest myself.’

Turning to his tasks with brisk kindness, it wasn’t long before Asfaloth was nicely rubbed down, blanket on, muzzle fussed. Yes. Asfaloth seemed happy and Fin smiled.

‘Good ride this morning, old friend, thanks. Few more years and you’ll be grumbling when I suggest an outing, I’ll bet… mind, I may well be grumbling myself… Here, stole you some of these earlier, strawberries, don’t tell Elrond… don’t tell Erestor either, I know they’re dried but he still seems to have a fondness… there you are.’

He’d gone to the healers’ rooms in the hopes of a glimpse of Melpomaen, of course, and had to think up an excuse on the spot for the stern-eyed elleth currently in charge; she had seemed shocked at the use to which Elrond’s face-smoothing ingredients would be put to, but then Glorfindel had always found it shocking that Elrond would waste perfectly good food just to stave off one or two human-style age lines from around his eyes; the strawberries were much more appreciated by Asfaloth…

He realised he wasn’t alone.

Well, of course not; the stable hands were around, the yard always had someone, but… someone was watching him. No idea who, but he put a smile on his face anyway, determined to bluff it out.

‘Oh, I’m glad it’s you,’ he said, turning, ‘…Mel…’ and actually, he was, he was glad that of all the people it might have been, it was the young healer. ‘Busy morning with the hangover heroes?’

The youngster laughed.

‘In fact, my restorative seems to have done the trick for most, and those it didn’t help were seen to before my hours began. I have – under orders – put the sign on the doors and left early; I have a task to do later which is almost duty, and so… and I would appreciate your help, if you are not busy.’

‘Me? Well, glad to. Had your day meal yet? Didn’t actually break my fast yet today, so I could do with a bite…’

‘I have not; we could sit together, if you like. I brought these for Asfaloth; some sweet herbs to go in his hay. I know he likes Elrond’s skin-tonic, but I thought I had better not steal quite all the berries…’

‘Melpomaen, you’re very thoughtful; what would we do without you? Thank you. Asfaloth thanks you.’

‘You are both very welcome. If you wanted twenty minutes to freshen up, I can meet you in the dining hall?’

‘Oh, no, I’m fine as I am; it’s not as if Elrond’s here to wrinkle his nose at me, is it? Come on, then; I’ve got my appetite back, I think.’

*

Glorfindel was too hungry for Mel to venture any conversation at all while the seneschal made up for his lack of breakfast, but once the edge was off Findel’s hunger, he began to look up from his plate a little and seem more disposed to talk.

‘No sign of the twins,’ he said. ‘Or Lindir. Mind, he was going to work with Erestor in the library, I think and Erestor often sends out for food if he’s busy…’

‘And Elrohir would probably wish to eat privately with Rusdir…’

‘That’s true. So, what am I helping with? Is it secret?’

‘Hardly that, although perhaps it would be best not voiced too loudly abroad… I happened to mention to Lindir that my rooms are becoming draughty and unpleasant, and he very kindly suggested I look at one of the vacant chambers near him…’

‘I see.’ The skin around Glorfindel’s eyes tightened. ‘I need to shift my stuff out of the room I’ve been using, well, I expected it after last night, and Elrond wouldn’t like me being there anyway, so…’

‘Findel, no, stop!’ Mel shook his head. ‘In fact, I was going to ask for help moving my own things across, but not to that chamber, to the one on the other side… you remember, I asked if you’d mind if I moved in next to him; I just wanted to see if I could get it to be his idea, that is all.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. Yes, you did say, slipped my mind. But it won’t work. And, sorry, just for a minute I felt a bit… well.’

‘As if I were trying to take your place? Mellon-nin, I would not do that…’

‘Of course not, just… well. Be glad to help, but you don’t want to be in that other room, it’s far too small and dark and pokey… besides, it’s laid out wrong… easiest if I show you, I think, are you finished eating? Shall we take a look?’

Glorfindel pushed away from the table, waiting, and so Melpomaen smiled and got up to follow him down to Lindir’s corridor. Fin pushed open the door to the vacant room.

‘Look, it’s tiny, because the corridor turns up ahead, and the room is squashed in against it…’

‘I know, it is small, but I have a workroom for anything other than my clothing…’

‘Only room for a one-person bed, too…’

‘I doubt that will be an issue,’ Mel said in dry tones.

‘But the main thing is the fireplace. Lindir’s hearth backs on to it, of course, as the rooms share a chimney. We have a system, you see, if he wakes in the night and needs to know he’s safe, he taps twice, I tap back twice, he knows I’m here, and usually it’s enough to settle him. If he knocks again, then I go to his door and we might have a bit of a chat about things. Do you see, though? He’d have to get up out of bed to knock on your wall, and then, would you hear?’

‘I think I do… so the beds are against the shared wall between his and your chamber? Yes, you’re right, there would be no way to arrange that in this room.’

‘Besides, this is a horrid room… my… the one I was using is much better. Come and see.’

Glorfindel led the way once more, gesturing Mel ahead of him. It was true the chamber was brighter, more spacious, and the wide bed had its headboard against the shared wall.

‘It will be better for you in here, you know it. Better for Lindir, too. And… and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have take over from me, you know, looking out for him.’

‘Thank you, Findel; I will do my best to support him. Only… I am not trying to take your place.’

‘No, I know. I suppose I’m just a bit… well, not possessive, not of Lindir, but of making sure he’s all right…’

‘Lindir said he thought helping him filled a void for you…’

‘Ah, well, can’t deny I’ve a void needs filling…’ Glorfindel waited for a heartbeat, as if expecting a response, and then cleared his throat. ‘So. I’ll gather my stuff up and then come to your rooms, shall I, help you across?’

‘That would be very helpful. Thank you.’

*

It wasn’t that Glorfindel had that many possessions, not really. But he seemed to have accumulated a lot of bits and pieces in his borrowed chamber. There was a surprising number of empty wine bottles, for instance, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember how they got there… bits of bowstring and wax, a few clothes… not so many things… but scattered about, in drawers and cupboards and all over the place. With a sigh and a shake of his golden head, Fin spread out a cloak on the bed and piled his things on top of it, bundling them up. The empty bottles he tucked under his arm and ferried, a few at a time, to Elrond’s study, where he secreted them around the room, behind books on the shelves, under the desk, behind cushions on the sofa… he grinned to himself as he left. Elrond would be furious, and would blame the twins… but would not dare say anything for fear they would tease him about the number of empties…

That done, he returned for his bundle of belongings, dropped them off in his own room, and hurried over to Mel’s chamber in the north wing, hoping the penneth wouldn’t have been wondering where he’d got to…

‘Mel?’ Fin tapped on the door, opened it a fraction. ‘Sorry I’ve been so long, preparing a little surprise for Elrond…’ He faltered, surprised at what he saw. The young healer was sitting on the bed, shoulders slumped, with no sign that he’d made any preparations towards moving out. ‘Melpomaen? Are you all right?’

Mel turned towards him with a grim attempt at a smile.

‘I... Oh, Findel, it is silly! I suddenly realised that, for all the draughts, and the inconveniences, this room has been my home ever since I began working with the healers here and…’

He broke off with something suspiciously like a sob in his voice.

‘Now, no need to get upset…’ Glorfindel closed the door behind him and sat down next to Melpomaen, sliding an arm around his shoulders. ‘It’s understandable, you get attached. We all need something to connect with, and it can be a person, or a place, or even a thing; Gil-Galad and that silly spear of his, for instance, daft it was, he always needed to know where Aeglos was… a grown ellon, too, worried about a big pointy stick. So… yes, if it’s been your home…’

Melpomaen’s shoulders shook and Glorfindel gathered him into a hug; it felt very pleasant to have his arms full of young, attractive ellon, even if it was only to cheer him up a bit... After a few minutes, the youngster stopped crying and in a few minutes more, Fin heard a muffled voice against his chest.

‘Findel? Are you… are you hugging me?’

‘Well, you seemed to need it, penneth. Call it a cuddle, if you’d rather.’ Fin released his hold and smiled as Melpomaen eased away, wiping his eyes. ‘I’ve had a thought, though. Why don’t you just sleep in the room next to Lindir’s and keep on living here, at least to start with? It won’t be such a wrench, then, if you do decide to move.’

The young healer sniffed and nodded.

‘Thank you, yes, I… sorry, Findel, it just caught me unawares.’

‘I know. Get a bit like that myself on occasion, can’t even work out why I’m crying, sometimes… I’d offer you a drink, tea or something, if I knew where anything was…’

‘It’s all right, let me…’ Mel rose to go towards the hearth, but shook his head and instead opened a small wall cupboard next to the window. He took out a bottle and found two beakers. ‘I think we probably deserve this,’ he said as he broached the seal and poured. ‘It’s mead, it was a begetting-day gift from Tulusson… ‘

‘Mead?’ Glorfindel sniffed at the amber liquid in his glass.

‘You know. Stronger than wine, made from honey…?’

‘Ah. What honey beer gets to be when it grows up…’ He sipped. ‘Oh, yes, I think that’s worth waiting for… thank you. So, when’s your begetting-day, Mel?’

‘Four days after New Year. And you?’

‘Ah, that would be telling… so you’ve had that bottle all this time…?’

‘It’s not that long, really. I keep it for emergencies, or special guests.’

‘And which am I, can I ask? Bit of both, maybe…?’

‘I’m the emergency, breaking down like that. You’re the special guest.’

‘So, does that mean I have to cry before I can have a refill?’

Mel smiled and replenished both their beakers.

‘Special guests don’t have to weep to get a top-up. The truth is, Tulusson has given me a bottle every year since I helped him with a plant he wanted to save some years ago; I have several more, somewhere… I like the flavour, but not to drink alone, and since my friends sailed…’

‘I remember the first night we got back, you were sitting quite happily with a group…’

‘They had invited me from kindness; that is why I asked Lindir to join us, to make it easier. And why the others were not offended when I sat with Lindir and you instead.’ Mel sighed. ‘They were trying to be kind, but really, we have little in common.’

Glorfindel nudged his shoulder.

‘Don’t be sad about that, Mel; you’ve other friends.’

‘Yes, I have. There is Tulusson, and Lindir, and Erestor, and… and you. I am most fortunate.’

Glorfindel got to his feet and looked out of the window. It gave onto a sweep of grass with the tumbling wildness of uncultivated land beyond.

‘Your friend Tulusson doesn’t garden here, does he?’

‘On the contrary.’ Mel joined Fin at the window. ‘He says it takes far more effort to make it look natural than to keep grass clipped and tidy.’

‘Hmm. I think I see why you like this room; it has a nice air to it, it feels cosy and friendly. You’ve a workroom off the healers’ rooms, I heard?’

‘Yes; but here’s where I make my little jewelled trees; the light is good, not over bright, but clear enough to work by most days. Short, in winter, it’s true.’

‘Little…?’

Mel was already reaching into a drawer and lifted out a partially-finished piece.

‘Oh, I see!’ Glorfindel said. ‘Lindir has something like that, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes. In Bree, they say such things filter out the bad dreams and only let through the good; I thought it would help him sleep better…’

‘Could do with one of those myself, sometimes,’ Fin murmured.

‘Really, Findel? For this has lain incomplete since I started it without knowing for whom it was intended; I will gladly finish it for you, if you would like it…’

‘Oh, I couldn’t… could I?’

‘I have some topaz, and some turquoise, a little lapis…’ Lindir tilted his head. ‘Perhaps a touch of amber, too, for those are your colours and… oh, it needs a few crystals of milky quartz and some obsidian, for that is what I think of when you speak of Ecthelion… yes, those would make it perfect for you. Talking of things perfect for you, the… the list of requirements you gave me, can I ask…? I understand why not a Silvan, I think…’

‘They tend to get under your skin. Hard to shake, ask Erestor, Elrohir… too easy to get silly over them…’

Mel nodded. ‘But no Galadhrim?’

‘Can never be sure they’re not going to turn out to be related to Galadriel… and imagine, finding yourself cosying up to one of Elrond’s relations-by-marriage without realising it…’ Glorfindel shuddered dramatically. ‘I think I need another drink after that…’

Mel obliged with more mead, although he only put a splash in his own beaker.

‘I knew a Galadhrim once. A little clingy and now, ew, thank you for that thought… but it makes sense. But it’s difficult to know who to suggest, where to look; for example, you said pretty, but that’s rather subjective; I mean, you wouldn’t say I was pretty, would you?’

‘Well, I…’ Glorfindel thought he heard a different question to the one asked. He set down his mead and turned to look Mel in the eye. The youngster lifted his chin, met his gaze. 

‘I think you’re far too lovely to be called pretty, Mel,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Gorgeous, possibly. But the other things I said… I think you’ve already seen me in so many different states it’d have to be something extreme for me not to be able to look you in the eye… as for… for Ecthelion… was I wrong, or did you just offer to put him in a jewel tree for me, milky quartz and obsidian…? Could never be ashamed to tell Thel about a healer who knows his importance to me… but… oh, Valar, did I get it wrong? Say something, Mel, I thought you were… well, thought I might be in with a chance, but did I misread you? After all, you have feelings for Lindir, don’t you? And…’

‘And so I will never, ever fall in love with you, Glorfindel, because I’m already in love with Lindir. But he is pining, I am moping, you are lonely… surely between us, you and I, we can find a measure of solace, and that will only help us be better friends to our dear minstrel, won’t it?’

‘Oh, that’s a… a lovely thought, so tempting, but… but you’re so young, Mel…’

The healer laughed. ‘Compared to you, Findel, everyone is young! No, I am not just come to my maturity, after all; I was already an adult when the dragon came to the mountain… and I have not lived an entirely celibate life…’

‘Yes, you said; a Galadhrim…’

‘Oh, and a very fine knight who has since sailed before that, and one of Gildor Inglorion’s followers, and…’

‘Yes, yes, I see – you’re not nearly as sweet and innocent as you look. Well; not as innocent; can’t help but think you might be very, very sweet, Melpomaen… well, if… if you’re sure you won’t get hurt…?’

Mel smiled, a warm, open-hearted, hopeful smile that lit his eyes and showed Glorfindel just what Lindir was missing.

‘I am sure. What’s more, I’m fairly certain you won’t get hurt, either.’

He held out his hand, and Glorfindel took it, pulled Mel towards him, tipped his chin with his free hand, but was surprised when Mel swallowed and placed his palm on Fin’s chest.

‘Findel… this is not “no”, but… did you not say, not yet?’

‘Ah, but that was hours ago. No, really; I meant, it might take you weeks to find someone, and then they’d have to understand I have to support Lindir, so... but you already know…’

Mel laughed and dropped his head onto Glorfindel’s chest and automatically, Fin’s arms went round him.

‘Ah, Findel, that feels lovely, just to be held…! I want to say yes, now, yes, but… I think we need to take a little time to consider the details of our arrangement. Do we want people to know? Or if not, how hide it from Elrond, who would be bound to hate such an arrangement? Or…?’

‘Tonight, then. Ah, no, you’re moving into the room next to Lindir tonight, it’d be a bit inconsiderate even for me…’

‘This evening, after supper. I have duty, officially, so come to the healers’ rooms; I will be on my own there…’

‘Oh, lovely… there are plenty of beds, I suppose, even if they are a bit narrow…’

‘Findel!’ Mel patted Glorfindel’s chest and pushed away. ‘I meant, to talk!’

Glorfindel grinned and winked. ‘Oh, we can talk as well,’ he said.


	38. Talking Ecthelion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mel asks Glorfindel about Ecthelion...

Lindir had been sitting by his open window practicing softly on his lap harp when he heard sounds from the room Glorfindel had formerly occupied. Staying his hands on the strings, he listened for a moment… Yes, voices, Glorfindel and Melpomaen… and the tones were happy, friendly, which was a relief, for he had been worried about his friend the seneschal…

Setting aside his harp, he left his own room and tapped lightly on the partially open door.

‘Come in,’ Melpomaen said, opening the door wider. ‘Lindir, I hope I didn’t interrupt your practice too much…?’

‘Not at all, my friend; I wanted to say, welcome to the corridor and thank you for being so willing to move across. Glorfindel, I am sorry to lose you as a neighbour even though I am glad it is Melpomaen who is moving in… you are moving in, Mel? You do not seem to have brought much across, yet…’

‘Well…’ Not wanting to worry Lindir by saying he wasn’t ready to properly leave his lodgings, Mel temporised. ‘This is just the first of my things, really… I do not wish to utterly abandon my old rooms, lest Elrond have something to say on the subject that might be upsetting for any or all of us.’

Lindir nodded. ‘Besides which, you might worry that it make me feel that I will never be well, and that is the last thing I want… I assure you, I am just a little unsettled at present. But I am so much better than I have been, and I am sure I will be fine. One can only be happy for Lady Mesri, that she has so much to look forward to and…’ He broke off and swallowed before forcing a smile. ‘I will wish you welcome, even if you are not completely here, and say, thank you, and, Glorfindel…? Are you…?’

‘Don’t you worry about me, Lindir,’ Glorfindel said. ‘I have a feeling things are looking up all round, in fact. No, I’m happy to help, Mel; shall we go back to your rooms for the next load, or do you want to put these away first?’

‘I’ll leave you to get on,’ Lindir said, smiling more naturally this time. ‘But welcome, Melpomaen.’

*

Back in his own rooms, Mel was vaguely aware of Glorfindel shutting the door behind him.

‘You’ll want to take your pillow, Mel,’ Findel said. ‘Nothing like it when you’re out of place, something familiar like your own pillow. And what about your tree-making things, will you bring them?’

‘I don’t imagine myself spending much time in the room next to Lindir’s, really,’ Melpomaen said. ‘Just to sleep. And although there is no real healers’ work to be done in the house, I am supposed to spend some of my working hours in the healing rooms…’

‘You really don’t want to leave here now, do you?’

‘It is foolish. I want to help Lindir, I do… but… this chamber is home, familiar, and I have just come back from the unfamiliar; perhaps that is all it is.’

‘Probably you could just do with a day or two before you take up care duty for Lindir again; have to admit, we’ve been doing what we can, me and Erestor, but it’s not been easy and now this news… and you’re back and there is a sense of, thank the Valar Mel’s home… but that’s not right, not fair.’ Glorfindel placed his hands carefully on Melpomaen’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. ‘But I’m really, really, glad you’re home, Mel, and not just for help with our minstrel. For yourself, too. Especially as you have such clever, clever ideas…’ He smiled in a winning sort of way and linked his hands behind Mel’s neck, the silken hair shivering over his fingers. ‘Suggesting I seek a bed-friend and then provoking me into making a list of attributes there and then, now, that was just inspired… I was looking straight at you, my requirements were bound to fit you perfectly, weren’t they?’

Mel smiled and put his hands on Glorfindel’s waist.

‘That really wasn’t my intention, Findel, but…’ He paused. The subject had very quickly veered away from helping Lindir, but there was something so very lost and unsure about the expression in Findel’s so-blue eyes that he decided to follow the seneschal’s lead. ‘I am lonely, you are… perhaps, lonely also…’

‘No perhaps about it, penneth. Listen. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot, I don’t… I really like you, Mel, but I’m not quite sure what bed-friends means to you. To me, it’s… well, I don’t want anything superficial, it’s not the physical side of things...’

‘Oh, I agree; if it was just the physical, one would just steal Elrond’s special scrolls and lock one’s door for an hour or so…’ 

‘Don’t mistake, I won’t get silly over you, I hope, I don’t want to fall in love, not again, there’s my Thel waiting… Elrond’s special scrolls? What special scrolls?’

‘The ones he keeps locked away because the healers don’t want them with the medical books and Erestor has forbidden what he calls such filth and depravation anywhere near decent, respectable tomes in the library… you know the scrolls I mean? They were Gil-Galad’s, and Elrond took charge of them after he died?’

‘Oh, those scrolls… No, never heard of them… then again, I’ve seen a few things in my time… could you get me a peek at them, do you think, then I could be sure if I’ve seen them or not?’

‘Glorfindel…’

‘Because there were some, and I stole them – for the good of Imladris – and shipped them off to Thranduil for safe-keeping. Anonymously, of course…’

‘Glorfindel…’

‘…oddly enough, Elrond never mentioned them being missing… so if these scrolls are not those scrolls, they sound like the sort of dangerous thing I need to know about. In my position as seneschal, of course…’

‘Glorfindel! Why are we suddenly talking about Elrond’s appalling taste in erotic literature when a moment ago…?’

‘A moment ago, I was trying to say I wanted more than just a superficial arrangement, but that I didn’t want to get too involved… which sounds wrong, come to think of it, but I wouldn’t want you to do something that would cause you heartache. That’s all I mean, really.’

‘Glorfindel, I am in love with someone else; I can promise, I think, not to get too attached. Although I will care for you, I do care about you; I do not think I could engage in this sort of arrangement if I didn’t, if I wasn’t at least a little fond… you already are dear to me as a friend, I expect that only to continue, even to strengthen.’

‘Fond, that’s a good way of putting it. Mel, I really, really like you… I think you would be as amazing as a bed-friend as you are as a regular friend… if you’re sure…?’

‘I am certain, Findel. I think we could have fun together as well as ease our mutual loneliness. Of course, we will have to decide how private we want this to be…’

‘Extremely private. Dodging Elrond, not smirking, not showing up for breakfast together…’

‘Yes, that sort of thing. And Lindir; I do not think it would be helpful if he knew; he might think we would be too absorbed in each other to support him. Except he would see it as entirely natural that we should not think of him, he would try to be happy for us and yet it would hurt his fëa to feel neglected…’

‘And I seem to be in the middle of helping you move in next to him… so it doesn’t look as if we’ll be spending the nights together anytime soon, does it?’

Melpomaen smiled as he shook his head.

‘Well, you did say this morning we should wait a little…’

‘But then again…you’re here… I’m here and, oh, look, your lovely big bed is here, too, just behind us in fact, isn’t that handy?’

*

‘Tell me about Ecthelion?’ Mel wriggled himself comfortable against Findel’s shoulder, his arm across the broad chest, enjoying the sensation of Glorfindel’s arm around him. ‘The stories make him sound remote, somehow, and I cannot quite believe he was not as much a hero as you…’

‘Oh, you have no idea…!’ Glorfindel lifted his hand to rest on Melpomaen’s silken hair, stroking gently. ‘He was the best, the bravest, the most perfect warrior Gondolin had ever seen… what you need to remember, Mel, is that Elrond feels he is honour-bound to have my praises sung, whether I like it or not; I held the pass so his grandparents could get away with little Eärendil… but it was Ecthelion killed Gothmog, and if he’d been on our trail as well, we would have had no chance… well, that story’s been told to death, so to speak…’

‘What about… how did you know he was the one? Your fëa-mate?’

‘That’s the odd thing, really. I’d seen him around all my life, we almost grew up together. Certainly trained on the same grounds, served the same king… but it didn’t happen until… I remember exactly the moment, though I didn’t realise for weeks after… it’s not a pretty story, you see, so it didn’t have a song made of it; there were dark days, sweet Melpomaen, very dark days…’

He fell silent, absently stroking Melpomaen’s hair, the rhythm soothing as he ordered his recollections.

‘Findel, if it would hurt your fëa to recount it, don’t think you must…’

‘No, no… think it might do me good, in an odd sort of way. Well. To be brief – there was a troop of us, a full score, rode out on Turgon’s business. Got clear of Gondolin, the secret ways, were a good week into the patrol when we were ambushed. Outnumbered three, four to one, horrible mix of bad Men and servants of Morgoth… we were taken. They were trying to find their way in, of course. Threw us in cages, took us away one by one at night… dreadful, it was, hearing the… the screams, not as bad as hearing them stop… kept us naked and half-starved, elf after elf fading from despair or just so as not to give away the secrets… this particular day… they’d taken me the night before, heard them talking over my head about a special plan, and not to spoil me too much… I spent most of the day in fear, trying to decide if I should fade or not, but while you’re alive, there’s always a hope you can get away, help your friends… not too grim for you, penneth?’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Melpomaen shivered. ‘But, if you would just… hold me a bit closer…’

‘Glad to.’ Glorfindel shifted position so both his arms were around Melpomaen. ‘So. Our captain had been killed first night, in front of us all. We were down to about eleven of us, trying to hold on to our sanity. It was cold, bright, getting towards late in the day. And Ecthelion rode out of the sun with his household warriors behind him, singing as he came, and destroyed our captors utterly. I clutched the bars of my cage and wept, he was so beautiful, so magnificent… first thing he did, when he got my cage open? Took off his own breeches and handed them to me, looking over my shoulder and joking it was a good thing tunics were being worn long this year, wasn’t it? Gave me his cloak as well, while all around the rest of his command were handing out bits of their own clothes, spare leggings, cloaks, so that in the finish we were all covered, more or less. Gave us back our dignity. Water, a bit to eat, not much in case it made us ill, and they rode us home. Ecthelion even asked if I would ride before him or behind him. Appreciated that, I can tell you.’

‘I can’t begin to imagine how awful…’

‘No, well, I’m glad of that, penneth. Anyway, they rode us back, turned us over to the healers, job done. Didn’t think any more of it, thought that amazing moment of… of recognition had been just relief at being saved. Now, you must understand, Gondolin was locked in, locked down. It was an odd situation, really. Only a few of us were allowed to have children, finite resources, you see. And of course if you were shut inside Gondolin all your days, the chances of finding your fëa-mate were bound to be remote. So people made the best of it, took husbands and wives, had elflings if they could… Anyway, there was an elleth… now I’ve told this bit of the story before, to Lindir, in fact, and I may have – no, I did, I gave him the idea that I didn’t mind ellon or elleth, but truth is, I didn’t want him getting upset and it seemed easier at the time than explaining. So we were trying to find out if we’d be compatible, and… suddenly, we weren’t, where before I’d been taken, it hadn’t been so bad. Oh, everything worked, but suddenly, it wasn’t right for me, she wasn’t right for me... She put it down to what I’d been through, didn’t blame me at all, and we backed away gently…’

‘That seems… well, to marry against your inclination…’

‘Ah, but at the time, I didn’t know I had an inclination, Mel. Never been in love, never felt more than a mild attraction. Now. Time passed, got over the captivity, well, as much as you do, you know, then out of nowhere one day I have a panic attack. And a sense of falling coupled with a sudden pain in my shoulder and hip. At the same time, I had a mental image of Ecthelion. Didn’t know what else to do, so I took myself round to where he was lodging with a made-up excuse ready. When I got there, servant showed me in, and there he was, arm in a sling, foot up on a stool. Same arm and leg as in my panic attack.’

‘You felt his accident?’

‘It seemed so. He brightened right up when he saw me. “I wondered when you’d realise,” he said. “If I’d known being thrown from my horse was the key, I’d have done it weeks ago, my dear.” So then it all came out; he’d known his heart for years, and been biding his time… and the rest is history and, sometimes, legend.’

‘It sounds wonderful. Although how sad you had to go through such trauma first. And you and he were married…?’

‘Would have been, nice and quiet and private, but Turgon got wind of it. Always looking at ways to keep us safe, keep the population down without being seen as harsh. Thought we’d be an excellent example of one of the alternatives, so he promised us a big, public wedding, lots of fuss, lots of support… well, he was our king, you can’t really say no to your king… we were privately vowed, swapped rings between ourselves, were lovers, of course. We weren’t going to wait for that, not when there was so much danger in the world… and, of course, then it happened. Not that long before the wedding, Gondolin was attacked. We had time to kiss and say “I love you” and that was it.’

‘Oh… Findel…’

‘Ah, don’t mind me, penneth; we saw each other again soon enough… now, before I get all sorry for myself, don’t we have something we need to do?’

‘Yes; I expect Lindir will be wondering why he hasn’t heard us return with more things…’

‘Probably, but if he asks, we can just say something came up. Oh, look, it has, too…’

*

Alone in the strange bed in the strange room later, Mel cuddled a pillow close and smiled to himself, thinking back to the afternoon. It had been a wonderful start to their arrangement, Glorfindel proving surprisingly gentle and more loving and generous than Melpomaen had imagined…Mel had decided to make a point of always talking about Ecthelion, so that they both kept in mind that Glorfindel had someone very special to return to. And as for Mel, well, he had someone special right here, even if he was in love with a human woman. Meanwhile, it really felt as if Glorfindel could take the sting out of even that…

Eventually, they had risen and dressed, and carried more things across. He’d taken both pillows, and the one he now held close against his chest still smelled sweetly of the washing mixture Findel used on his hair. When asked, the seneschal had claimed it was the same as he used on Asfaloth’s mane and tail, the thought making Mel smile more.

For all that the room was unfamiliar, he felt comfortable, although he had a feeling it was not going to be easy, combining his new role as Glorfindel’s bed-friend with the discretion required, especially as Glorfindel’s idea of discretion was not to hold hands in the corridors or kiss in public... but at present, Mel really didn’t know if he would care if the secret came out; Oh, if it hurt Lindir, of course he would care. But for himself, he just felt… wonderful. No longer lonely, no longer desperately sad about his unrequited longings for Lindir… although it was only an interim solution, it was looking as if it would be a very fulfilling one.

Melpomaen inhaled the sweet scent from the pillow and drifted off into reverie…

…felt his nictitating membranes slide back and realised he had slept for maybe two or three hours, to judge from the angle of the slice of moonlight entering between the curtains. There was no reason why he should have woken; he had been snug and comfortable, the Glorfindel-scented pillow still in his arms.

But just as he was about to turn over he heard a double tap on the wall.

Lindir! Had he knocked before, was that what had awoken him? But no, Mel had been awake for at least a few minutes; he would have heard. He shifted onto his knees facing the shared wall and knocked twice with his knuckles. Within a couple of heartbeats, swift and louder, Lindir knocked back.

Ah. Lindir needed someone to talk to. Sliding from the bed, Mel pulled on a dressing robe over his sleeping shorts and left his room to knock softly on Lindir’s door. It opened immediately.

‘Mel, I am sorry to bother you, but I… oh…’ Lindir stepped back and shook his head; it seemed to Mel that he might have been weeping. ‘Glorfindel would usually come in, if I knocked again…’

‘If you would like me to, of course.’

Lindir nodded, closing the door and gesturing Mel towards a chair by the fire, himself taking the seat next to him.

‘Are you well, Lindir?’ Mel asked with his friendly smile.

‘I… did not settle easily, thinking of Kovalia’s song, the words are changing in my heart, becoming bitter and I do not want that; I fell asleep and dreamed her child was… was mine, with elven ears and inner eyelids, and when it was born she shunned it and…’ He turned his sad eyes towards Melpomaen. ‘Could it be? Would it be, do you think? I did not… did not ask for a child, but it is different, with humans, is it not?’

‘Lindir…’ Mel shook his head. Where to start with this…? ‘Yes, it is different, with humans, they do not have to ask, they are blessed or they are not, it is not something they can choose… but I… I feel I must remind you, what Elrond was told, that the child is Lady Mesri’s by her husband… so you need not fear the infant will be abandoned, or not loved. But perhaps the dream was symbolic, and her shunning the baby is meant to represent your fear that she does not think of you, that this husband has taken your place…’

‘It was foolish of me to think she would feel for me as I do for her, in any case; it was but a night; a few hours only we were together and…’

‘No, not foolish at all; that is how it happens, sometimes; we fall in love between one heartbeat and the next, and I have no reason to believe this does not happen for humankind as it does for us. But your situation is unfortunate… Lindir, I am very sorry I could not do more to bring you together. But do not fear for the child; the Lady seemed very happy with events.’

Lindir nodded.

‘Perhaps it is a good thing the baby is not mine; I would want to watch a child of my own grow up even if I could not participate; it would be too hard…’

‘I think I would not like it, if it happened to me. Not that it is likely to, of course… I have a free afternoon tomorrow, Lindir, shall we continue your studies in the language of the Fiefdom? Now I have heard it spoken, I have more knowledge and understanding, much has become clear to me…’

‘Thank you, but I do not think so. After all, what is the point?’

‘For your song, Lindir, if nothing else. For the beautiful song you are writing; I know you now, at least a little, I know you must finish it, or you will not rest. And it would be such a shame to let all your hard work go for nothing…’

Lindir gave a wan smile. ‘Ai, it was certainly hard work, all those different word forms…’

‘They are easier once you have heard them a few times. Tomorrow, let me show you?’

‘Well… Yes, all right.’

‘And in the morning, shall we walk up and look at the Mesri-plant?’

‘If you would like to, yes.’ Lindir shifted in his seat. ‘I think I could sleep again now.’

‘That’s good. Did Glorfindel stay and sleep in the chair, when your nights were disturbed?’

‘In fact, sometimes he would lie on top of my bed in his own bedroll, his back to mine. But that was on the way home when I was… was very fragile, still… I will be fine, knowing you are just next door.’

‘As you wish, Lindir. Do not forget you have your dream sifter, too.’

Lindir nodded. ‘I am sure I will be well now.’

Mel smiled and let himself out, easing back into his own room. To his surprise, the bed was occupied; Glorfindel was stretched out on one side, his arm across the back. In one hand he held a full goblet which he raised to Mel and then offered to him, a finger to his lips in indication of silence, and as he slid in beside the seneschal and accepted the drink, Melpomaen rather thought all would be will with him now, as well.


	39. Elrond's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Lord of the Last Homely House returns...

Over the next few days and nights Lindir settled slowly back into the safety of his normal routine; walking up to look at what he still thought of as the Mesri-plant, helping Erestor in the library, language study with Melpomaen and time with his music. If it seemed Mel and Glorfindel were leaving him slightly more to himself, he thought nothing of it other than to think it was good that they didn’t feel the need to spend so much time watching him; he felt less of a burden and that, in turn, built his confidence further. 

Once the initial shock had worn off, he found he was becoming inured to his sorrow about Kovalia, was more and more able to rationalise the difficulty of their respective situations; he recognised that he would not have wanted to leave the safety of the Valley, and Kovalia would not have abandoned her people just to come to him, even if she did not already have a husband, and a child on the way. No; their lives were too far apart for them to ever come together, he saw that now.

It was sad, of course, and his heart was heavy, and he could not get past the thought that whatever else, he loved her and would not be able to find happiness with any other lady, be she human or elf. But perhaps that did not matter; he had, at least, known love, which was more than could be said for some.

So the days passed, became weeks, and Lindir felt more able to sleep without knocking on the wall between his room and Mel’s. At about the same time he realised this, he noticed his friend had never really taken over the chamber.

‘Mel,’ he began, as they met to begin their walk up to inspect the Mesri-plant one day. ‘Now the summer heat is here, your old rooms won’t be quite so draughty, will they? I… couldn’t help but notice you don’t really seem settled… and I am fine now, really, I am. You could return to your old chambers, if you liked. Do not forget, Elladan is but two doors away from me…’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Lindir.’ Mel reached out to give him a friendly one-armed hug. ‘It is only that I have been in my old rooms for so long. Besides, every time you have knocked, I have always been awake and waiting; if you need me, I will know.’

‘Yes, I’ve noticed you always seem to be there exactly when I need you, never a moment later. You are such a good healer, so very aware of everyone’s needs. Do not forget to take time for yourself too, though.’

Melpomaen smiled and nodded and forbore mentioning that, in fact, it was because he was in love with Lindir, that his fëa was attuned to him rather than his healing skills which made him so aware of the minstrel’s wellbeing. Nor did he comment that, actually, he had had rather a lot of time to himself lately. Well, many of his recreational hours had been spent with Findel, rather than alone, but that was actually better than time just for himself. Together they had explored the possibilities of various secluded regions of Imladris, including one of the abandoned villas in the Valley, the hayloft above Asfaloth’s stall, Glorfindel’s bathing room and once even Elrond’s study… afterwards, Findel had claimed it was a simple act of rebellion, and not an opportunity to search for scurrilous scrolls that may or may not be lurking somewhere about… 

‘You know, I am not sure, but I think Elrond may have a little bit of a problem,’ Mel said, too, trying to get comfortable beneath the seneschal on the sofa and, on exploring, finding the neck of a long-empty wine bottle digging into his shoulder. ‘This is the third one of these I’ve found…’

Glorfindel grinned and shook his head. ‘Pressures of leadership, maybe. Probably best not to mention it. He’s going to be home soon, do you think?’

‘Quite probably; his plans were to stay a few weeks more, but he may have decided he enjoys being a Daerada and is in no hurry to leave…’ Mel exhaled softly. ‘Of course, when he is back we will have to be rather more circumspect…’

‘Yes, I suppose… might be easier if I came to your room, or we meet in the hayloft. Or your studio…’

‘True… I was going to say, perhaps not quite so often?’

‘Oh, are you bored with me already?’ Glorfindel grinned to show his feelings weren’t hurt. ‘Because I have been saving a trick or two just in case…’

‘Ah, and now I want to say yes even though no, I am not bored with you, I do not think anyone ever could be… it is only… the fewer times we meet, the less likely we are to be discovered…’

‘Or… the more we meet, the more practice we’ll have of keeping it private…’ Glorfindel sighed and gathered Melpomaen onto his chest. ‘Have a feeling Elrond might want to keep us all busy, though. Just because he can. So we had better make the most of our chances, yes?’

*

Glorfindel’s prediction was depressingly accurate. Elrond returned in a parade of knights and outriders a few weeks later, riding tall and proud on his horse and having sent a messenger ahead so that nobody would be in any doubt that he was on his way home and when to have the kettle on.

‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ Erestor muttered, and promptly began an overhaul of the Last Homely House to make sure as much as possible was in its usual order before Elrond’s arrival. In fact, the only room he didn’t personally investigate was Elrond’s study, as, to his knowledge, only the housekeeper had been in. That she had satisfied herself with a cursory dust, not even plumping up the cushions on the chairs or investigating the darker corners, was not, he maintained afterwards, his fault…

The household gathered on the steps with smiles and welcoming words. Elrond acknowledged the salutations, his eyes sweeping the company… and rested briefly on Arveldir. He nodded a greeting, which was returned, his gaze moved on… and found Captain Rusdir standing between his sons, trying to look inconspicuous. A question formed in his face, and Erestor stepped forward to distract his lord with an offer of refreshments.

‘For your road has been a long one, Lord Elrond. Welcome home at last.’

Elrond nodded and dismounted, allowing himself to be deflected. His eyes next rested on Lindir as he made his way into the house.

‘Ah, there you are, Lindir. Melpomaen gave you the news of the Fiefdom, I trust?’

‘Yes, Elrond. I was pleased to hear all went well with the treaty; it will make a big difference to the people…’

‘All the news…? Their Lady who Leads, she had a son, you know. Word came to Gondor. All is well with them both, so we heard.’

‘I am grateful,’ Lindir said, although to hear these tidings with the eyes of all the house on him was not what he would have chosen. ‘It is good to know she is in health.’

‘And is your song finished yet?’

‘Not quite, although I have been working on it.’

‘Well, I had been hoping recent events would give you the closure you need to complete it…’

Behind Elrond, Erestor shook his head and moved forwards to demand Elrond’s attention.

‘And how is Arwen, may I ask? I do hope she is well…’

Lindir’s shoulders dipped as he sighed with relief. Carefully, Mel moved closer to him and briefly put an arm around him in a friendly hug.

‘Welcome home, Elrond,’ he murmured. ‘Never mind, Lindir! Perhaps he won’t feel the need to mention it again.’

‘One can hope,’ Lindir said. 

‘Well, I am about to begin my duty hours in the healers’ rooms. If you need to see me about that slight strain of your wrist from too much harping practice…’

‘What slight strain? Oh, oh, I see, yes. Thank you.’

‘Really, Mel?’ Glorfindel queried, passing behind his young friend. ‘And there was me hoping to ask your advice about the little problem I’ve been having…’

‘I will be on duty for two hours; that should be plenty of time to help you both…’

*

It was remarkable, Erestor mused, at how swiftly the mood of a house could change. From a generally pleasant, friendly atmosphere before Elrond’s return, by the following morning a sense of uneasy waiting had fallen over the Last Homely House; in fact, ‘homely’ was an entirely inappropriate word…

‘Erestor? Did you hear me, or does my simple question merit such depth of thought?’

‘In fact, yes, Elrond.’ Erestor straightened his robe with formal ease as he stood in front of Elrond’s study desk. ‘That is, as you have noted, the case.’

‘What do you mean, yes? Yes, you’ve gone deaf, or yes, you need to think hard about my rhetorical question, did I see a Silvan wandering my halls freely after supper last evening and at the breakfast tables this morning?’

‘To be precise, your qualifying query requires a little more… you probably did see a Silvan, we are fortunate to have both my husband Arveldir staying with us, and Captain Rusdir…’

‘That’s the fellow; Rusdir. What’s he doing with the run of the place? I can see that you and Elrohir needed an escort back, but why is the fellow not housed with the knights?’

‘I really could not say, Elrond…’

‘But you should be able to at least venture an opinion; after all, did not you, as my chamberlain, assign him a room?’

‘I was hardly in a position to do that, Elrond, since I arrived home in the same company… the lodging arrangements were nothing to do with me, although I do remember you saying the knights should be brought within the confines of the main house and therefore…’

‘Then it will be Lindir I need to speak to, I suppose.’

‘Must you, Lord Elrond?’ Erestor shook his head, his air grave and sad. ‘Our minstrel has striven hard to recover from his disappointment, and to be asked to account for a very minor matter such as this might seem unkind…’

‘Unkind? I?’ Elrond blinked. ‘That is not at all the case, I am merely… standards need to be maintained…’

‘Then allow me an hour or two to enquire on your behalf,’ Erestor said. ‘Should any other queries come to mind, do, please, feel free to mention them to me for further investigation; I am sure it would be quite the best course of action…’

‘Yes, all right. Are you busy this morning, Erestor? I would like to tour the house and make sure all is in its proper place; would you be able to come with me, do you think?’

‘Not immediately, I am afraid,’ Erestor replied. ‘I have a meeting planned and enquiries to make. But if you could defer until after the day meal…’

‘Oh, very well! I do not know, it seems to me the entire place has fallen to wrack and ruin while I have been away…’ 

Elrond paused, perhaps waiting for a compliment, a comment on how much he had been missed. But Erestor merely sighed. 

‘Things have not been the same in the Valley since the destruction of the One Ring,’ he said. ‘This is the sacrifice of the elves, that the works wrought by the power of the Three can no longer hold. And now, if you will excuse me, I have pressing matters waiting.’

‘Yes, yes. I will seek you later, then.’

*

Erestor bowed and made his escape. Even with the few hour’s reprieve he had gained, he was able to warn everyone who needed it that Elrond was about to perform a surprise inspection.

‘Oh, lovely!’ Glorfindel said. ‘I can arrange to be in my bath when he calls, shall I?’

‘Better not,’ Melpomaen said, laughing. ‘It might not be safe… perhaps you should be directly come from an energetic practice session and smelling of your exertions in the yard.’

‘Oh, how charming…!’ Erestor gave his tight, minimal smile. ‘Very well. And now I must find Lindir and warn him that he is likely to be faced with Elrond’s complaints about his interim work as chamberlain, and then speak to Elrohir about his generosity in sharing his own quarters with the visiting Captain Rusdir; perhaps, if we try very hard, we can convince Elrond it is all for the ease of the housekeeper…’

By the time that Elrond made his tour of the Last Homely House after lunch, signs of Erestor’s activity were evident to all eyes except those of the Lord of the House.

‘Ach! What have you been doing, Glorfindel?’ Elrond exclaimed. ‘It smells like horses have been involved… or at least, the product of horses…’

‘Ah. Spontaneous arms practice with the lads, Elrond… didn’t want them getting soft… we had the most amazing up-and-down multi-participant mock battle through the stable-yard and, well, there was an incident with the barrow of muck… it wasn’t my fault, the twins ganged up on me… So, I need to get my bath, if that’s all right with you, and then I have a minor injury I need to get looked at…’

‘Very well. If you would like, I can assist with that…’

‘No, no, you’re far too busy. I’ll get Melpomaen to help, he could do with the practice…’

‘I see. Well, I wanted to speak to Elrohir…’

‘You might want to give him twenty minutes; he was as much a victim of the muck-barrow as was I…’

*

Lindir, working quietly at his musical practice, had a summons from Elrond mid-way through the afternoon. The message was brought by Erestor, who went with him and even managed to insert himself into Elrond’s study to stand quietly by the door, providing silent support as Elrond shuffled unimportant papers and pretended they mattered.

‘Sorry to bring this up, Lindir,’ he began, ‘but I wanted to clarify with you the allocation of rooms to our visitors… this Captain Rusdir… where did you put him, exactly?’

‘I… there being so much room in the House these days, I did not specify to the captain; I barely know him, and allowed those who are more familiar with him to allocate lodgings…’

‘But, Lindir! He is only a captain on escort duty…’

‘I think the Silvan warriors set more store by their captains; I understand he served with honour. But I was told he was a guest, rather than simply an outrider and so was happy for him to…’

‘A guest? And who would be inviting a…?’ Elrond broke off as Erestor stepped forward from the shadows. ‘Ah, didn’t see you there, Erestor. Perhaps you can shed some light on this?’

‘A little, perhaps. It is true that Captain Rusdir was invited back as a companion and a friend, rather than as an escort. And while I was not in a position to suggest where he should stay while here, I do think any criticism should devolve to me, and not to Lindir. I am used to the ways of the house and arguing my case with its inhabitants; Lindir has not had time to become so hardened yet to the wiles of some of its denizens…’

‘And which particular denizens are to blame, do we think, in this instance?’ Elrond’s eyebrow raised with dramatic threat. ‘One would not like to think that Lindir’s kind nature has been imposed upon while I have been away… Oh, sit down, Lindir! I doubt you are really to blame here; it is but your inexperience showing. But I will have the house run properly. And that is another thing; Erestor, I have had a complaint from Master Bilbo about drunken singing in the corridors late at night…’

‘My lord!’ Erestor gathered his dignity about him like armour. ‘I can assure you that I have not participated in any drunken singing, whether in the corridors or…’

‘No, of course not, not you! It was Glorfindel, apparently. Have a word, would you; I know we ought to make allowances, but in the corridors? Really!’

‘It was only the once, Elrond,’ Lindir said. ‘Nor was it really late, or particularly loud…’

‘Well. I suppose…’

A knock at the door and it opened as Elrohir burst in. He nodded to Lindir in passing and came to stand square in front of Elrond’s desk.

‘I heard you wanted to know why Rusdir is lodging in the house, Adar, and…’

‘In fact, I am having difficulty discovering even where in the house he is lodging; nobody seems to know, or to want to admit to knowing…’

Elrohir squared his shoulders.

‘Adar, this isn’t how I wanted to tell you – I was going to speak with you last night, only you retired early to your study with the messages, and then this morning I was at arms practice, and… well. Rusdir is my guest, he’s my friend…’

‘Your friend? And just how long have you known him? In what way has he earned your friendship?’

‘When Lord Arveldir and Captain Triwathon came visiting, last year. We met then, and I… we became… close.’

‘Close?’ Elrond’s tone grew dangerous; he seemed to have forgotten that Lindir and Erestor were present, all his attention on his son. ‘Perhaps you would care to define “close” for me?’

‘He is… we are… Ada, I know you will not like it, but I love him. He is my One, my fëa-mate, I need to be with him…’

‘Impossible!’

‘No, Ada, you don’t understand. I almost rode back with him the first time; I would have married him there and then and gone to live in the Greenwood with him, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings…’

‘And what is different now? Do I look as if I am not hurt and disappointed in you? Does it seem to you that I am in any way delighted with this news? I say again, it is impossible! I will not permit…’

‘I’m sorry, Father, but I am not seeking permission, I am telling you how things are. I hope you will come to see that Rusdir is a good and brave captain, that he has many excellent qualities. I would like to marry him in your sight, but if this is displeasing to you, well…’ Elrohir shrugged. ‘You keep saying you’ll sail soon. We can wait a bit longer.’

Elrond shook his head and sank down into his seat. He gathered his thoughts for a moment in silence and then began a veritable tirade of protest, all of which tended to the point that Rusdir was a Silvan and it was an unworthy match, that he was male which made it worse, that no son of his was going to bring shame on the house, that there were standards that needed to be maintained in the Valley and it was the duty of himself and his sons to set an example of good living and decent standards… 

It was at this point that, shifting his weight in his corner, Erestor’s foot collided with something that skittered and slid across the floor, breaking the tension and drawing all attention to its progress… an empty wine bottle, spinning and sliding towards the desk. With a frown, Lindir realised something had been digging into his lower back and investigated beneath the cushions to reveal a second empty bottle which he removed and set down on the floor.

Elrond turned a dark shade of purple that did not bode well for his health.

‘I have no idea what those are doing in here,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘But it is beside the point, my argument still stands…’

‘Of course you do not, dear Elrond,’ Erestor said with concern dripping from every word. ‘You arrive home from a long and difficult journey; what more natural than you should seek to relax…’

‘I tell you, I do not…’

‘…and it is probably as a result of this… overindulgence, perhaps, that you are not quite thinking clearly,’ the advisor went on, moving closer to the desk and folding his hands together in front of his body. ‘For of course, it was not your intention to imply that a noble and ancient and pure bloodline such as the Silvan is in any way inferior or unworthy of connection to your house.’

‘In fact,’ Elrohir put in, enjoying his father’s momentary confusion, ‘if anything, it’s Rusdir who’s marrying beneath him; human blood, remember? Anyway, just to be clear, we’re sharing my quarters, although there is a room nearby where he stows his stuff, to stop the servants from gossiping too much. Don’t blame Lindir or Erestor, Ada, please; even if Rusdir had been put in the barracks like you seem to think he should, I’d just have joined him there. We’d like to be married according to Noldor traditions this summer, and then I’ll ride back with him and we’ll have the Silvan ceremony in Eryn Lasgalen, so his honour-sister and her sons can attend. If there’s nothing else, Adar?’

Elrond waved him weakly away.

‘And you too, Erestor and Lindir, leave me alone. Have them send me…’ He paused as Lindir dug out another empty wine bottle from amongst the cushions. ‘Have them send me some chamomile tea. And see I am not disturbed until dinner.’


	40. Anything for Cherries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor enlists an unlikely ally...

‘That went well, considering,’ Elrohir said as he led the retreat from the study with Erestor and Lindir behind him. ‘Lindir, really, I’m sorry Ada picked you out for blame; it wasn’t fair of him and I can’t think what’s wrong…’

‘Can you not?’ Erestor said softly. ‘Your father has just spent time with your sister at what should have been a joyous occasion, the birth of her first child. But the arrival of your niece was a reminder to Elrond that she will die, that her mother has chosen the mortal way and this is as clear a sign of her mortality as if her hair had turned grey… for all his faults, for all his inadequacies as a parent, do not doubt, do not ever doubt, he loves you and Elladan and Arwen very much. Your news, Elrohir, will not help, I am afraid; perhaps he has been hoping that you or Elladan would marry and he would have the birth of elfling grandchildren to celebrate, to offset the pain of meeting mortality in Arwen’s daughter. He knows how bitter this will be, remember; he has already lost his twin…’

‘I… I can’t imagine…’ Elrohir shook his head. ‘If anything were to happen to Dan… but then, we’d meet up again one day, but to never… it’s a hard thing. I suppose I hadn’t really thought, about Arwen… not… when we saw her, she was so happy…’

‘Of course she was happy!’ Erestor said. ‘Do not doubt her life will be a long and a contented one… until the moment when Aragorn loses his vigour and lies down to death, she will be joyous. But there will come a day of reckoning.’

Elrohir nodded. ‘I’m going to stay for her,’ he said. ‘I don’t think Rusdir would want to sail anyway – you know how Silvans are about that, Erestor – but even if he did want to, I think I’d want to wait. Naneth isn’t here, Ada is sailing soon… she’s a strange, fey thing, my sister, but I won’t leave until I’ve seen her days over. Who knows? Maybe I can help… but even if I can’t…’

‘That’s good of you, Elrohir,’ Erestor said. ‘For my part, well, I will follow Arveldir, of course, whatever his choices. But the sea does not sing to his Silvan blood, and so I do not think you will linger alone.’

‘I will stay too,’ Lindir said. ‘For a while, at least. I would want to know what happens to… to the Fiefdom of the Southern Winds, if Kov… if Mesri’s child grows to govern in her stead once she dies.’

‘Lindir…’ Elrohir began, but the minstrel smiled.

‘Thank you for interrupting my meeting with Elrond,’ he said. ‘And Erestor, for coming in with me; it was not so daunting as if I’d been alone. Well, if you will pardon me, I have music to write; no doubt you would like something new for your wedding, Elrohir, and if it is to be soon, I had better make a start.’

*

It was not a happy group that met at the Great Hall for the evening meal. Glorfindel alone seemed in reasonable humour; Melpomaen took a place by Lindir and endeavoured to support his spirits with conversation concerning an encounter with Tulusson, the gardener.

‘…for I was wishing to plant the kernel of the fruit I brought back, and he lifted his lip in something very like a sneer. “Thought you’d know better than that,” he said. “It needs to cold to shock it into sprouting. You’ll have to wait for the frosts before you stand any chance.” And so, while I had hoped to make a little expedition of it soon, I find I have lost almost all the respect our gardener ever held for me in my eagerness!’

‘But you are a healer first,’ Lindir said when Mel had smiled at his own discomfiture. ‘And your knowledge of plants is for their use in your craft; there is surely too much to remember in the growing of plants as well.’

‘That may be true. But would you like a walk up the valley tomorrow, in any case?’

‘Yes; it will be pleasant. Thank you, Mel; it’s something to look forward to.’

‘Talking of looking forward to things, will you be well enough to play for us tonight, Lindir?’ Erestor asked. ‘For I know you visited Melpomaen for help with a strained wrist?’

‘Thank you, it is much improved. I can take a turn, I think, as long as it is not too long.’

‘There’s cause to celebrate, anyway,’ Elrohir said, winking at Erestor. ‘I have some news… that is, Adar?’ He turned innocent eyes on his father. ‘Perhaps you would rather tell the company formally over supper?’

Elrond set his brow in a frown while his mouth smiled.

‘No, indeed, my son, you will do it far more justice than will I… particularly as the details of when and where are not yet fixed…’

‘Oh, that’s easy enough! Well, everyone, you will be glad to hear that Rusdir and I have decided we would like to be vowed and married. Or married and vowed, however you want to put it…’

‘Now, that does call for a celebration!’ Glorfindel said, lifting his goblet. ‘Good luck to you both… and, Elrond, don’t you think that’s cause for the good wine to go around…?’

‘Indeed it does, although there seem to be far fewer bottles in store than when I left…’ Elrond said in stern tones.

Glorfindel did not even pause.

‘Ah, my lord, it’s good to know that even though you’ve only been home a day, you’ve had time to visit the wine cellars for long enough to count the stock. That’s what I call prioritising. Well, Elrohir, Rusdir, I will happily drink to your happiness.’

At least the news, which was hardly news at all to most of those assembled, provided a reason to smile and relax and be happy, to ask in eager tones for more information, when would it happen, where and how as they waited to be called to the table.

‘Well, it cannot be right away,’ Elrond said, trying to establish at least a little control over the discussion. ‘There are things to organise first…’

‘Yes, Ada; Lindir has promised to write us a wedding song, so we will have to wait for that.’

‘Ah, but do you not have another composition to finish first, Lindir?’ Elrond asked. ‘That song for Kovalia, as you continue to call her…’

To Lindir, it felt as if the silence that followed Elrond’s comment was personal, loaded. He swallowed, and tried to find some courage.

‘In fact, Elrond, that is not how I work; if I am inspired, I will set aside a work in progress to begin another, and often while I proceed on that, further inspiration comes to me…’

‘I am still waiting to hear the finished result, you see. It has been some time, after all…’

‘A good song is like a story, my lord; one needs a suitable ending before one can record it properly. And Lady Mesri’s tale is really only just beginning.’ Lindir ventured a smile. ‘I would not spoil the work for rushing it.’

Just at that moment, the meal was called, and the minstrel inclined his head and moved towards his seat with quiet dignity.

‘Well said!’ Melpomaen whispered, passing to take his own place, now rather lower than while Elrond had been away. ‘Do not let yourself be bullied, mellon-nin!’

‘We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, eh, Mel?’ Glorfindel asked with a wink, taking the seat next to Lindir. ‘There, I’ll ride point tonight. Not that I think there’s going to be but one topic of conversation tonight – Roh and Rus will divert Elrond’s attention beautifully, I think.’ He reached for his goblet. ‘Oh, and he really has broken out the good stuff tonight! Your health, my friends!’

*

Thoughts of a new composition kept Lindir occupied in his quiet moments during the next few days. He walked up to look at the mesri-plant (which, of course, was really the kovalia plant now), spent some time with Mel at his language study, and worked on an appropriate melody for the wedding song. It had to speak of love and true affection, and yet, it was for warriors, and so it had to have a degree of strength to it, a robustness and sturdiness about it. It made for an interesting challenge.

So occupied was he by the new song that he hardly noticed that Glorfindel and Melpomaen seemed busier than usual; Elrond had been complaining of slipping standards and so Glorfindel had been obliged to reinstate daily practice for the knights. That Elladan, Elrohir and Rusdir also attended the drills had not been Elrond’s intention, but when he complained one day that it took them from him during his free morning hours and if he wanted to see his sons, he had to attend practice, Elladan had just shrugged.

‘Leading by example, Adar,’ he had said, and Elrond had turned away in silent annoyance to find something else with which to find fault.  
It had not taken him long; from the practice ground the easiest way into the house took him past the healing rooms, and to his indignation, he found a sign on the door next to the duty roster:

“Healers Occupied Elsewhere: seek aid in the main house.”

Fortunately for Melpomaen, his name was not down for duty until the afternoon, but Elrond nevertheless summoned him, and the main healer, to his study and lectured them for half an hour on responsibility and duty and the importance of being where one ought to be at the right time. 

As a result, the lead healer promptly claimed that she had been up most of the night with an unspecified emergency, and it was not fair to expect her to take morning duty as well… and decided Melpomaen was much better suited to the night watch than she…

This, in turn, meant that Mel left the Great Hall almost as soon as the evening meal was over, to rest for an hour or two before he began his watch. And all the extra work Glorfindel had been doing seemed to result in a string of minor injuries that, for some reason, he only felt late in the evening or very early in the morning, necessitating his visiting the healing rooms rather more than usual…

But although Lindir noticed his friend was not present as much during the evenings, with a very minor adjustment to their routine, he and Melpomaen continued to find time to study and talk together often enough that the minstrel didn’t feel lonely.

Evenings and nights were harder, though. Elrond’s insistence that everyone return to their properly assigned rooms had hit the minstrel hard; even though he felt much recovered from his ordeal, it had been good to know someone was only a tap on the wall away and, of course, Elrond’s return had brought with it the reminder of Kovalia no longer being Kovalia, of her being married and therefore unavailable, and so while Lindir’s dread of Briot invading his dreams was less, now he was anxious lest he dream of Kovalia…

He clung to the knowledge that he was better, much better, stroked the jewelled branches of his dream-sifter, thought of the kindness of Melpomaen, who had made it for him, and tried not to fear reverie.

Time began to pass again.

There were walks to look at the mesri-plant (in the afternoons now, since Mel needed some hours rest at least), pleasant hours of conversation in the warm air, there was progress to report on the song (‘…at least their names names rhyme, and I can even make them alliterate if I contract “Elrohir” down to “Roh”, but Elrond will not like it… then again, I am not writing it for him, but for my friend, his son…’) and the only thing missing, really, was that where before Glorfindel would usually have joined them, the extra practice seemed to be taking its toll on the Balrog-slayer and he kept to his rooms in the afternoon.

Erestor joined them, though, and at Lindir’s invitation, brought Arveldir with him. It was nice to get to know the serious Silvan outside the formality of the house, nice to watch Erestor relax and smile and hold hands decorously with his handsome Silvan husband.

But for all one might think Erestor’s attention fully occupied with his husband, it was not the case, and one day, about a week after Melpomaen’s enforced night duty had begun, the advisor looked from him to Lindir with a shake of the head.

‘Both of you look exhausted!’ he said. ‘Melpomaen, I can understand why you should be tired, but Lindir, is all well?’

‘I… am finding it difficult to find reverie, some nights,’ Lindir admitted, lifting a hand as he saw Mel about to launch into full healer-mode. ‘It is fine, Mel, really, I do not want a draught to help me sleep; it is but a temporary situation, it will pass.’

It will pass.

It seemed to have become Lindir’s personal chant, he thought to himself on their return to the house. His distress and pain from the attack – it mostly had passed, the rest would pass. His personal, selfish sorrow that Kovalia was married – it would pass, and when it did, he could reassure himself with the thought that she belonged in her fiefdom and he belonged in Imladris, and the miles were long between the two places. Even Elrond’s bad moods and insistence on everything being exactly to order, that, too, would pass.

Meanwhile, the household kept its collective head down and contented itself with minor, subversive acts of defiance that generally were so minor as to pass unnoticed, except for the relief they gave the perpetrators.

*

‘Something is wrong,’ Arveldir said one evening as he and Erestor readied themselves for supper. ‘I had been hoping you would confide in me without prompting, my dear. But for the last two nights now, you have sighed when you thought I was not paying attention. How may I help?’

Erestor turned with a smile and a gesture that brought Arveldir across the room to him.

‘It is nothing. Well, for me, personally, it is a very small matter… you remember I spoke of my misadventures on the way to the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds?’

‘Yes; you were all drugged, and you were kidnapped, but later released unharmed. Is it praying on your mind, my love? It must be almost a year now, if I have it right…’

Erestor stroked his hand down Arveldir’s shoulder, dropping his gaze.

‘It is, and while I do not remember the incident fondly, another of our party has reason to be far more distressed… I cannot speak plainly without breaking a confidence, but I am worried for my former companion…’

‘Erestor, beloved, I know the event to which you refer.’ Arveldir nodded, and took Erestor’s hands in his, rubbing his thumbs across Erestor’s knuckles in a way that soothed his fëa. ‘No one person has broken faith, but a few words here and there… I know Lindir’s tale, and I am terribly sorry for him… and the thought of what might have been, beloved, had you…’

‘Oh, no, I was not pretty enough, that is why they threw me back,’ Erestor said with a catch in his voice that they both pretended was a laugh. ‘But you see, he may need help. Elrond, I fear, has forgotten the incident and so will not realise…’

‘And his friend the young healer is locked into night duty at the healer’s rooms, it is rather unfair…’

‘I did venture to suggest that Melpomaen had taken more than his turn, but Elrond has said he is not interfering in the running of infirmary… which is rather unjust, since it was his intervention that has led to this. But… if Lindir needs a friend and his friend is not to hand…’

‘Anything you feel you need to do, my dear,’ Arveldir said gently. ‘Of course, if I may assist in any way –even without the poor minstrel knowing…’

‘Thank you. Beloved, I am most grateful. I may well need to accept your gracious offer.’

*

The anniversary of the terrible night drew nearer with no mention of it by Lindir to any of his friends, at least, not that Erestor could see. Elrond seemed oblivious of any relevance; of course, it had been some time after the event that he had learned of it from Lindir’s diary, which had not been dated as such. Elrohir was wrapped up in Rusdir, and Elladan filling the role of two sons to give his twin time to be with him. Melpomaen, too, might well have been ignorant of the date and Erestor would have been willing to bet that Glorfindel had lost track, too, except that the seneschal approached him in a quiet moment.

‘Don’t mention it to Lindir, in case he’s coping on his own,’ he said softly. ‘But I think tonight’s the night we drank drugged wine, which makes tomorrow a very bad day for him.’

‘I was beginning to think only I remembered…’

‘No, you couldn’t really forget something like that if you tried, could you? I want to help but if I go blundering in, I might make things worse… I want to mention to Mel, but the poor penneth’s so exhausted it wouldn’t be fair… I’ll wait for Lindir’s lead, I think. Just so you know I know, though.’

Yes. Oddly enough, knowing that Glorfindel hadn’t forgotten was reassuring; it meant Erestor did not feel he was the only one watching.  
Next morning, he tried approaching Elrond with a hint that the current use of rooms was inefficient for the household staff, and that one or two small adjustments might make things easier, but his lord cut him off with a gesture.

‘I know what this is about, Elrohir has been complaining that I’ve insisted that Silvan has a room to himself. Well, if they’re not married, I won’t have them behaving as if they are, not under my roof… and, no, I won’t be hurried into an early date for the wedding, either.’

‘In fact, my lord, it is not about Rusdir and Elrohir’s arrangements, but…’

Elrond carried on as if Erestor had not spoken.

‘So, thank you, Erestor, we will leave things as they are. If the staff are struggling because there is one extra room to clean, then perhaps Rusdir had better go back to his trees, then.’

With a bow, Erestor withdrew. If Elrond was once again fretting about his son’s love life, then he was not likely to have room to process any other thoughts with the compassion for which he had once been famed. He would just have to be on the alert and be prepared to take care of Lindir himself, if need be.

*

He didn’t have long to wait. 

After supper, the evening passed in the Hall of Fire, Elrond conversing with his sons, grudgingly admitting Rusdir to the talk, Glorfindel lounging next to Melpomaen until the healer sighed and bid them all good evening before setting off for his night watch in the infirmary. It seemed to be the signal for Lindir to rise from their group and go to the harp. He began with bright tunes, but it was not long before the tone grew more sedate and sorrowing as time went on until finally he stilled the strings and came over to sit with Erestor, Arveldir and Glorfindel.

‘I do not know what is up with me,’ he said. ‘My fingers will not dance in joy over the strings tonight.’

‘Your playing was beautiful, nevertheless,’ Erestor said. ‘Thank you for sharing your gift with us.’

Another hour, and Elrond left the hall. Elrohir and Rusdir bid every goodnight to hasten away as if they had only been waiting for their father to go before they, too, escaped. 

Elladan explained it.

‘If Rus had gone first, Ada would have kept Roh talking for a good couple of hours – he’s done it before, dragged him – dragged us both – into some tedious conversation in his study that neither of us could see the point of… and if Roh had gone first, it would have been awkward for Rusdir, left with Ada either ignoring him or being strictly polite… so this way, they can sidle off together. And I’m off to bed too; it’s getting late.’

‘It is indeed,’ Glorfindel stretched and got to his feet. ‘I want to have a chat to Asfaloth before I turn in – he’s been complaining I don’t spend enough time with him what with daily practice and things. So I will see you all later. If anyone needs anything… you know where to find me.’

The hall emptied until just Arveldir, Erestor, and Lindir were left. 

‘Well, Lindir, may I ask how is your wedding song coming along?’ Arveldir asked.

‘If I thought it would encourage our lord to permit the wedding sooner, I would declare it ready at once,’ the minstrel replied. ‘But perhaps you can advise, Lord Arveldir; the music of the Greenwood, are any particular instruments preferred? I would like to have the wedding song reflect Captain Rusdir’s Silvan heritage as well as referencing Elrohir’s background…’

The two discussed the music of Eryn Lasgalen for a few minutes while Erestor went about his nightly routine of ensuring the hall was properly ordered for the night; it was generally considered a hint, to any who might be lingering, that it was time to depart. But once he had finished and was ready to collect his husband and leave, he found Lindir still sitting in earnest conversation with Arveldir about instrumentation and arrangements, although the Silvan seemed to be more listening than participating now.

‘Forgive me, Lindir, but might we continue tomorrow?’ Arveldir said, noting Erestor’s return. ‘It is time I retired for the night.’

‘Yes, of course, I am sorry, just because I do not feel sleepy yet, it is not fair of me to keep you up! Goodnight, then. Both of you.’

‘Lindir?’ Erestor asked, trying not to sound over-anxious. ‘Are you not going to your own bed?’

‘Oh, no, I… I thought I would sit up, tonight. The… the tone on the hall harp is different from my own, and I thought… well, if I played softly, I might… very softly…’

‘In which case, goodnight,’ Erestor took Arveldir’s arm and left the hall. Halfway down the corridor to his room, he paused.

‘He is not at ease, Arveldir, I need to do something…’

‘But what, beloved? Sit up with him all night?’

‘I have a plan; I wondered if I might need one, but would you pardon me?’

‘Of course, but…’

Erestor silenced him with a chaste kiss.

‘You are very good. Thank you. And do not worry.’

*

Erestor left his husband and hastened to the stables. It was his hope that Glorfindel would have been delayed on his intended visit to Asfaloth, for he wanted to get to the horse first; Fin seemed to have found a way of absenting himself of late that was at once disconcerting and intriguing, but it was not Erestor’s place to question the seneschal’s whereabouts.

Fortunately, the stall was empty except for the ghostly white stallion who snorted and whickered hopefully as Erestor greeted him softly and approached.

‘I have a few treats for you, mellon-nin, but I have a small favour to ask of you in return… when your friend Glorfindel comes in…’

He had time to make his request, feed a few dried cherries to the horse and explain how very kind it would be of him to accede to Erestor’s wishes when a sound outside alerted him to Glorfindel’s presence. Knowing that however much wine the seneschal may have imbibed his reflexes were still quite sharp enough to cause serious mayhem to one’s person if he thought one might have been lurking with evil intent, he thought it best to announce himself.

‘Glorfindel? I thought I would spend a little time with Asfaloth while you were detained. We have been having rather a nice talk, in fact.’

‘Yes? Very kind of you, what’s going on really, though, Erestor? You’ve been off all evening and…’

‘Remember, just a little,’ Erestor murmured and stepped back from the horse as Asfaloth delivered a short, sharp back-kick to one of Glorfindel’s shins.

‘Ow! Owww! What was that for, wretched beast?’ Glorfindel limped back, rubbing his leg.

‘Two handfuls of cherries and the promise of more tomorrow,’ Erestor said. ‘Do not blame your poor horse; I asked him to kick you.’

‘Why in the name of all the Valar would you do that?’

‘Because he can kick harder than I. Come now, back to the Hall of Fire with me.’

‘No, oh, no, I need to go back to the inf… go to the infirmary…’

‘And so you shall, presently. Come. Findel – it is important.’

‘But…’

‘It is for Lindir's sake.’

‘Oh. Oh, all right then, you maniac! But I need to lean on you… I don’t know, that horse of mine will do anything for cherries…’


End file.
